


Lioness

by Omnibard



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), Biting, Canon Is Stupid, Cor's Trial, Fall of Insomnia, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knives, Leviathan is bitchy, Lucis-Accordo Alliance, Multi, Murder, Niflheim adventures, Old Retinue, Politics, Post-Altissia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Altissia, Princes & Princesses, Princess AU, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Stabbing, Summoning Astrals, This relationship isn't healthy, Young!Cor is Rash, as happily ever after as it gets, but it's getting better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-04-01 09:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: Per ProwlingThunder: "What if Ariel was ACTUALLY Accordo royalty instead of just a tongue-in-cheek joke?"So after some timeline adjustment... here's this mess...It's a mess.Rated Mature for language, occasional graphic violence, and sex.





	1. Altissia - 30 Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProwlingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/gifts).



“... What did you say?” Cor managed, after pulling his mouth from her neck and the fresh bruise there.  At the same time, she reluctantly pulled her hand out of the crotch of his slacks, sighing her exasperation and then _glaring it_ at him.

“I _said_ , ‘I’m the Princess of Accordo,’” She said tersely, irritation clear on her face caused by the shock and horror growing in his, “Since you finally decided to ask…”

Cor stared dumbfounded, unsure what, exactly, was the proper protocol for this circumstance to avoid an international incident.  Weskham would know. And Regis. Of course, he wasn’t going to _ask them_ since they’d spent the entire trip warning him to stay away from trouble-- and _her_.

“... I…” He cleared his throat, “... I can’t…”

“So it _seems._ ” She stepped away from the wall he’d had her against, shoving at his shoulder to move him out of the way as she strode back to the main ballroom and the music there.  Cor could do nothing but stare after her, feeling foolish and disappointed, with his pants and shirt-collar half-undone, rock-hard in his briefs, lips covered in her lipstick.

He decided he liked her _less_ in makeup.

The last time-- the _first time_ \-- he’d seen her had been fresh off the boat at the docks.  The five of them--Regis, Clarus, Weskham, Cid, and himself--had just disembarked when this beautiful girl came with a smile on her face and her hands full of red flowers.  Fearless and bold, she’d tucked a flower in each of their buttonholes and greeted them with a kiss on the cheek. Except for Cor. Being last, and still fresh from an argument with Clarus concerning the nobleman’s inability to successfully land a girl in the last week, and his apparent _jealousy_ at Cor’s continued success despite his young age and lack of real status or wealth, the Crownsguard soldier had turned his face, at the last possible instant, to kiss the young woman on the mouth.

Her being soaking wet, as if fresh from a swim in the ocean in her rose-colored dress which clung enticingly to her body, leaving very little to the imagination (which had caused all of them to blush at her approach and _especially_ when she started to greet them with kisses), was some encouragement for misbehavior as well.

She’d kissed him back, as if completely unsurprised by his actions, and Cor was introduced to the popular concept of an ‘Altissian Kiss’.  When the girl in the rose-colored dress turned and left again without a word, Clarus-- still making undistinguished noises in his throat-- grabbed Cor’s shoulder to keep him from _following her_.

_That’d_ been a lecture.

Then they’d met her here, at this fancy welcome ball put on by the Accordo Parliament-- because, as Weskham put it, ‘Accordo-- and especially Altissia-- never shy from the opportunity to throw a big expensive party.’-- and Cor had just happened to be on his way from the men’s room when she’d intercepted him for a more formal greeting and _he_ decided to _delay_ her.  She’d been amenable to the idea until just a moment ago.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Cor turned to see Cid quirking an eyebrow with that exasperated look on his face he often wore, “... You couldn’t leave enough alone, could ya?...   I didn’t think I’d ever say this to _you_ , brat, but clean yourself up and get back to work.”

\----------------------------

 

“ _Princess_ Ariel Maxine Lucja Trammel!” Clarus thundered in his most booming, obnoxious voice, as if he wanted the entire guest wing to hear, “ _Heiress_ to the throne of Accordo!”

“Fuck you, Clarus.” Cor glared.

“Shut-up.  Both of you.” Regis rubbed his forehead, already sensing the hangover that would come.  Altissians were used to swimming-- in the ocean and in booze at their parties, it seemed.  He’d probably taken more toasts tonight than previously all his life.

“What kind of proper princess carries on like that anyway?… at the docks even…” Cid groused.

“Why does Accordo even _have_ a princess?” Cor demanded of the room in general, “Don’t they have a Parliament and a First Secretary-- that’s who we’re talking to, right?”

Clarus almost chastised him for not paying attention in school, but then remembered that Cor hadn’t ever gone-- that Cor was _barely literate_ , thanks to the circumstances of his upbringing.  Weskham graciously supplied a succinct explanation while cleaning his monocle, “The royal family of Accordo are figureheads-- they still own large portions of the country, and the capital in specific, financially-- they have a not-insignificant voice to the Parliament, but otherwise do not run the government of Accordo.  The transition to a republic government from a monarchy was rather unbloody-- the Empire’s involvement notwithstanding-- and the people retain great pride and affection for their royals.”

“That being said,” Clarus said, thankfully in a less boisterous, humiliating voice, “she’s _still_ a princess, and Accordo is pretty traditional when it comes to _important_ match-making.  Even bankers’ daughters have arranged marriages around here.”

“And virgin brides bring honor to the families,” Regis gestured off-hand, “So keep your hands to yourself from now on, alright?”

\----------------------------

 

“Regis… You _have_ to marry her, okay?!” Cor felt his neck and ears grow hot as his prince and friend stared at him and his outburst, “Please!  Just _please_ fucking _marry her_!”

“Even… if that was even on the table,” The Prince of Lucis’s eyebrows almost met his hairline in his mystification at this sudden conversation, “that probably isn’t what you want, Cor.  I mean, you’re not going to get to fool around with my _queen_ …  We’re not friends like that.”

“No, shut up, shit, just…” The Crownsguard had to take a steadying breath, “... It’d be… fucking better than her marrying that fat Nilfy lord!”

Regis leaned forward, “Princess Ariel is marrying a Niflheim lord?”  He glanced at Weskam for confirmation, but his Advisor just shrugged and shook his head.  Whatever news this was, he hadn’t heard it yet.

Cor had tried.  He’d tried _really hard_ to keep to himself-- to stay away from the princess like Regis had commanded.  He’d stayed with the group as much as possible, and not encouraged her. But _entertaining important state guests_ was apparently one of the official duties of the royal family, and so she was _often_ in their company-- at least for every meal, but also frequently in between for city district tours, and gallery tours, and arena tournament viewings, and all the other events and venues the city had to offer.  There was even talk of a boating trip through the canals to one of the smaller islands for whale and sea serpent watching-- which honestly the Lucian retinue was looking forward to. Princess Ariel was always very engaging and polite-- though far from formal-- but _very often_ Weskham and Regis and Clarus would be tied up with the First Secretary, or other members of the Parliament (or very very rarely, the King and Queen of Accordo), leaving Cor alone with her.  Sometimes Cid would bail him out, but more often the recalcitrant mechanic would be investigating something in another room altogether.

When alone with her, the young Crownsguard did his level best to retain a strict professionalism, as if their first two encounters had never happened, but then she’d catch his eye with her warm dark ones, and give the slightest touch to his hand, chest, or shoulder, murmuring something soft and secret, and he’d come undone at her whim.  It was uncanny, her skill, as if knowing preternaturally just when and where to strike his weakness.

Of course, being _fifteen_ and _on fire like the Disc_ _for her_ made those weaknesses admittedly large and obvious.  Still, he was a soldier, and one of Lucis’s very best, and so her skill was admirable, and terrifying.  At the very least, he’d kept her hands out his slacks, _his_ out of her clothing altogether, and their mouths respectful distances from each other.  And Cor quietly, dutifully, _burned_.

“She told me,” He said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, “at breakfast, that her parents accepted an offer of engagement from Caligo Ulldor last night.”

The Prince’s Shield called from the bathroom, “I thought Ulldor was already married…?”

“He’s been married _five times,_ actually.” Weskham provided helpfully, “He goes through pretty young women somewhat _rapidly_.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?” Cor’s fists clenched.  Weskham gave him a level-eyed look.

“You know what it means.”

“Well alright,” Cid grumbled from his chair in the corner, arms folded, “maybe _I don’t_ , then.  What’s he _do_ with them?”

“It’s rumored he kills them.” The Advisor sighed, “Two are missing.  Three were discovered dead after a violent assault. The latest one was strangled in a hotel bathtub by an unidentified assailant.”

Cor all but exploded in rage, “ _Regis_ !  Come on, you _can’t_ just let this happen!  You’re a _crowned prince,_ they’ll _have_ to accept a _better offer_ !  What about the alliance?  Aren’t alliances sealed with royal weddings like this all the time?  Isn’t that… you know… _traditional_?”

“... She’s not that kind of princess, though, remember?” Regis was looking at Weskham again, “I could make an offer… it’d make for a stronger reason to accept an alliance to Parliament, right?”

The Advisor nodded, “Most likely, yes, but it’s _disturbing_ that the royal family is openly entertaining offers from Niflheim while Parliament is courting us.”

“I’m sure they’re in a very… delicate… position,” Regis said neutrally, watching Cor’s face for a moment, “if they’re accepting offers from lesser lords with… upsetting reputations… for their heiress.”

The youth said nothing, unwilling to actually _beg_ his friend and Prince to marry the girl he burned for so she wouldn’t belong to the _enemy_.

“It’s a good match for Lucis,” Clarus admitted, coming to join them around the coffee table, “assuming it can secure an alliance.”

“Her marrying into Niflheim _isn’t_ , either.” Cid observed.

“... I’ll make an offer.” Was the Prince’s cautious answer, “But I can’t promise anything.”

\----------------------------

 

Cor and Cid waited in the reception hall in the Parliament building, the former positively _vibrating_ with nervous energy while the latter studied the architecture boredly.  From the propped open doors leading into the meeting rooms and the Seat of Parliament, Regis strode out, his face carefully schooled, Weskham and Clarus in his wake, discussing in a whisper together.

“ _Well_?” The Crownsguard demanded, adding quickly after a withering look from the men behind Regis, “... Did your Highness find the Princess… uh… amenable?”

Regis frowned, his voice tight, trying to conceal his ire, “No.”

“What?”

“Your hard-headed princess is just as _contrary_ as _you are_ ,” Clarus grumbled, “She _declined_ , our offer, her _parents_ declined our offer, and the First Secretary said nothing at all.”

“... But does she want to marry the Nif lout?” Cid asked.  Weskham was silent, brow furrowed.

“I can’t imagine she is,” Regis said, adjusting his cuff links, “but she’s either too proud or too Imperialist to accept a counter-offer.  That much is clear.”

“She _can’t_ …” Cor grit down on his teeth and didn’t finish his proclamation.  He _didn’t know that_ for a fact.  She _could_ be a supporter of the Empire.  She _could_ just be toying with him for kicks, or to distract him away from his duty.

The looks his companions were giving him were sympathetic on the verge of _pitying_ and he desperately wanted to kick all of their teeth in for it.

“I _warned ya_ to think with your _proper head_ , ye brat.” Grumbled the mechanic.

The Princess of Accordo swept into the reception hall from the same corridor the others had come, heralded with the clicking of her heels across the polished marble.  She strode with poise and dignified purpose, straight for the gathered men, carrying all her station and the quiet fury of a brewing storm in her dark eyes. She zeroed in directly on Cor, and slapped him suddenly with all her weight behind her stiff-armed swing, not even bothering to stop her approach first.  The Crownsguard only _barely_ managed to keep his feet.  His companions shifted uneasily, preparing themselves-- they never knew Cor Leonis to take a hit without giving one back _harder,_ and _this time_ it _definitely_ couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“How _dare_ you,” The Princess said scathingly, though her voice was lowered so it would not carry, “What _arrogance_ rests in your thinking that you conspire to whore me out to _your_ kingdom while telling yourself it is doing _me_ a service?  I’ve no intention of _submitting_ to the designs of the Empire, but I’ll not be the plaything of _Lucis_ either.”

Then, while they all stared at her, gaping-- and Cor checked his bleeding lip, head still turned to the side-- she composed herself, curtsied quickly to Regis, and swept out the front door.

All eyes turned to Cor.  He was _grinning_ back at them, teeth stained with blood, side of his face glaring red where he’d been struck.

“ _Six_ , I love that woman…” He confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “... I know it’s stupid but… gods-damn… I really do…”

Cid smacked him upside the head-- as he tended to do when Cor was being particularly stubborn or stupid or _fifteen_ \-- and his companions shared the sentiment.

\----------------------------

 

“So it’s really our last night in Altissia,” Clarus sighed, looking out the window over the gleaming city in the sunset, “what do you want to do?”

Their visit had been decidedly _less_ welcoming after Regis’s offer for a royal wedding to seal the alliance.  It was as if he’d lifted the rug and revealed all the dust and debris hidden, and now their hosts were embarrassed and just wanted to usher them out as soon as possible.  Worse still, however, there would apparently be no alliance before they went. Weskham was staying behind to try and… massage things into a more favorable place-- he’d made an excellent impression on the First Secretary-- but the rest of them had a decided feeling of no longer being welcome.

“Nothing.” Regis sighed into his hand propping up his chin.  He was in a sour mood, “I don’t want to go out, Clarus.”

Cor didn’t want to go out either.  His thoughts were a jumble of anger and confusion.  And hurt-- that was the worst of all, that he bothered to _hurt_ about the situation.  It made him angrier at himself, and his near-constant jaw-clenching was giving him a headache.

Clarus _did_ manage to convince Regis to go out, though, to investigate the arena one last time-- and try and sneak their way into the underground (Regis had been maddeningly curious about the arena warrens since their first visit).  Cor elected to stay behind and keep an eye on things-- usually Cid’s preference, but he was out having one last drink and argument with Weskham.

 

Everything was already packed, all the the arrangement were made.  There was nothing to do except _actually_ make sure nobody came in to try and sabotage their rooms or luggage, so Cor paced the rooms for a few minutes before his headache chased him to the couch and he threw himself onto it.

A soft scraping sound at the window woke him to the dark, and the Genji blade was in his hand and in motion before he was even fully awake again.  The intruder didn’t even flinch away, regardless of the sharp, huge length of metal _uncomfortably close_ to the throat.  She merely blinked her dark eyes at him, stilling on her perch on the windowsill.

“W-what the hell are you doing here?” The Crownsguard dismissed the blade again, suddenly _very worried_ he’d actually cut her, but not sure if he ought to approach her and _check_ while she was still on the windowsill.

Fortunately, once the immediate danger was passed, she slid the rest of the way into the room and onto the couch, “I’m here to seduce you.” Was her simple answer.

“... I… You know I can’t let you--”

She touched his lips with her fingertips, slowly drawing her body closer to his where he was still half-reclined, “Take me to your bedroom.  Make me yours, for I never want to be his.”

Her eyes caught his, swallowing him in their depths as they _ever_ did, and his discipline buckled under the strain of his roiling feelings.  With both hands he crushed her down into his kiss, and she yielded enough to go.

His hands glided lightly down her sides while his mouth remained hungry, but she pulled away enough to whisper, “Your bedroom…”

“... I can’t,” Was his protest, while his hands found her hips and toyed with the idea of pulling them more fully against his own in an attempt to smother how much he ached.

“Your friends… they’ll discover us.  They’ll stop us.” She warned against his lips, “They’ll send me away.”

“You’re a _princess_.” He insisted, convincing one hand to leave her hips in favor of tangling his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck while gently tipping her face back to kiss along her neck.

With a light laugh, she extricated herself from his grasp and crossed the room with light steps, unbuttoning her blouse, “Yes.  A princess _and_ a virgin-- if you’d believe it-- and if you want to _remedy_ that for me, you’d best follow.”

Cor determined to absolutely _not_ do that until she dropped the blouse on the floor and he saw she didn’t wear a bra at all.  Then she disappeared down the hallway. Licking his lips, Cor muttered a curse and followed, picking up her blouse on the way.

\----------------------------

 

The boat trip back to Lucis was solemn, almost _brooding_.  The remaining four of them were frustrated with their lack of success in securing an alliance enough to forget to be hopeful that Weskham might prove successful in his solo endeavors.

Meanwhile, Cor nursed a more private feeling of rejection.  Ariel had not heeded his request that she stay until morning, that she discuss _one more time_ their options, that she _consider_ leaving with them back to Lucis-- as insane as it might be-- to avoid going to Ulldor.

Instead, she’d snuck out like a thief, leaving no evidence she’d ever been there save for her scent in the sheets and on his skin, and the memory of her warmth.


	2. Lucis - 30 Years Ago

The problem with secrets was their divisiveness-- the way they cut people away from others.  Cor hadn’t told the others about his illicit night with the Princess of Accordo, and he suspected they knew nothing about it because there were no disapproving looks or taunting jabs.  In retrospect, he felt foolish and naive about the whole thing-- what had possessed him to think she  _ would _ have done as he requested and tried to work things out with them?  What had he ever been to her, anyway, besides a plaything? She hadn’t stayed because he hadn’t anything to really  _ offer _ her, and Cor had been raised that nothing came for free in this world.  It was mercenary thinking, and the others often told him he was far too jaded for someone so young.

He felt foolish, and was quietly humiliated, and the secret sent him brooding on his own very often.  They gave him his space, surmising he was nursing heartbreak (which perhaps wasn’t  _ wrong _ , but thinking about it that way only made it more humiliating) and convinced themselves it would pass as it had for each of them for  _ their _ first loves.  Especially since they’d soon return to the battlefield.

Lestallum was their last real refuge before the great expanses of Imperial controlled territory on the way back to Insomnia.  Regis had called for a few days of resupply and reconstitution after their labors across the sea and Cleigne.

The Crownsguard was returning from the overlook to rejoin his friends for dinner when he noted the tension over the table, and the drawn expressions on their faces.  The waiter was busily tuning the stereo on a nearby table, which had apparently been tampered with by previous guests.

“What?” Cor demanded, sitting down next to Cid, when they didn’t stop giving him odd glances.

Clarus and Regis looked at each other, then Clarus sighed, “... We got some news.”

Cor stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate instead of slowly torment him.  He always liked his blows sudden and vicious as opposed to slow and drawn out-- as if that could somehow  _ make it easier to take _ .

Clarus sighed again, “She… The wedding was yesterday.  Ulldor’s.”

Cor said nothing, told himself he  _ felt _ nothing, over and over again, while Cid clapped his back with a work-worn hand.  The stereo burst into loud static, causing Regis to wince, and the mechanic almost groused at the waiter, but then a voice came over the airwaves.  It was a man, sounding too-cheerful as he read whatever news bulletin he’d been handed.

“-- discovered dead after her wedding in the Imperial capital of Gralea--” The waiter was still tuning, and Regis snapped at him to turn it back.  He glanced at Cor, hesitant, apologetic, but grim. News out of Gralea was news they needed to hear, these days.

“--stabbed in their wedding suite.  Lord Ulldor is under investigation by Imperial Police, but has made an official statement proclaiming his innocence and has agreed to cooperate with authorities.  Princess Ariel was heiress to the royal line of Accordo, and her union with the Imperial Lord was stated to be ‘a symbol of good-will and hope during a tumultuous time’...”

“Dreadful…” The waiter murmured, hurrying away and shaking his head.

The neighboring table was silent for a handful of seconds.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Clarus muttered, angry, “in their  _ wedding suite _ ?  On their  _ wedding night?! _ ”

“Shut up, Clarus.” Cid and Regis said together.

“Why would he  _ do _ that?”

“Because he’s a pathetic Nif  _ butcher _ , now shut  _ up _ , will ya?” Cid insisted with a kick under the table, aimed precisely for the bigger man’s shin.

“Cor…” But Regis didn’t know what to say, only knowing he didn’t like the mask that his friend’s face had become-- empty of grief  _ or _ outrage-- and the flatness in his light eyes.

Cor didn’t have questions.  He knew the answers: Caligo had killed his bride in their wedding bed after learning she wasn’t a virgin.

Caligo had killed Ariel because Cor had had her  _ first _ .  He knew it in his  _ bones _ .

_ ‘...virgin brides bring honor to the families.  So keep your hands to yourself…’ _

Everything had a price.   _ Everything _ .

It was later that night, when he realized how much he was willing to pay to make sure Caligo Ulldor understood that concept as well.  But he couldn’t storm into Gralea himself--jabs from his companions and taunts about thinking himself indestructible and immortal, aside.  He knew he wasn’t  _ that _ tough.  Not yet.

\----------------------------

 

“Haven’t seen him all day,” Cid admitted, checking over the Regalia before they left in the morning, “Thought he was with Reggie.”

“ _ I _ was with Regis,” Clarus insisted.

“Give the kid some breathin’ room.” Was the mechanic’s advice, “He always follows through when ya need him to.  Let ‘im work through it while he’s got the chance.”

The Prince’s Shield thought that made sense-- and why wouldn’t it?  Cid always seemed to communicate best with their youngest companion, despite being the eldest-- but Regis was  _ concerned _ ever since the radio broadcast, and a concerned Regis made for a concerned Clarus.  Expectedly, Regis didn’t like Cid’s answer, and so the two of them spent the rest of the afternoon asking after the young Crownsguard.

Three separate people stated that they’d seen the serious young man head for Taelpar Crag, and it took all three to convince Regis that Cor had actually  _ left the city _ without them.

“ _ Why _ would he go there, anyway?” Clarus wondered aloud.

They’d rejoined Cid at the car, figuring it just as good as the hotel room to meet up.

“Go where?” Cid asked, folding his arms while leaning back against the driver door.

“Taelpar Crag.”

Cid scowled at both of them. “Foolish.” He grumbled.

Regis alerted, “Why?”

“Weren’t the two of ya yammerin’ on about it on the drive over?”

Clarus and Regis exchanged a look.  They  _ had _ , they recalled, talked about the canyon and the news about the ruins found within the caverns, and the trials that waited within.

“But he was  _ sleeping _ !” Regis exclaimed.

“It’s a trial for the  _ Shield of the King _ !” Was Clarus’s contribution.

Cid’s scowled turned all the more disappointed, “You idiots.  That boy hasn’t slept sound since Altissia. And maybe that  _ is _ what they’re  _ for _ , but that ain’t what people  _ say _ .  People  _ say _ there’s great power to be had there.”

Regis shook his head, “Cor doesn’t chase stuff like that.  He’s not after power or glory.”

“No,” Cid admitted, no longer bothering to hide the frustration in his voice, “But Cor don’t take a hit sittin’ down either.  He’s been hit pretty hard, I’d say, and ain’t been thinkin’ straight for weeks now. You think he  _ ain’t _ windin’ up to hit back harder like he always do?”

“... Gods…” Regis’s palm found his forehead before dragging back into his hair.

Clarus was already on the phone, calling  _ again _ , despite how in vain it’d been the seven other times.

\----------------------------

 

Cor only hesitated  _ once _ , and it was for the eighth phone call he’d gotten from Clarus in the last three hours.  He only bothered to answer  _ this one _ because he was at the mouth of the cave, and figured it was his last chance before cell coverage failed entirely, and also now he was beyond their reach to try and  _ stop him _ .

“Clarus.”  He’d admittedly always kind of hated the cell phone and the idea of it-- that his independence was now collared by an electronic device no bigger than his hand, that allowed anybody to pry into his affairs whenever they pleased without the risk of being within swinging range.

“Where the hell  _ are _ you?!”

“Out.  I’ll be late for dinner.  Don’t wait.”

“Come  _ back _ , you stupid bastard,” Clarus thundered.  Cor heard Regis protest something, “Regis says--”

“--I’ll come back after.” Cor cut him off, eyeing the gloom of the cave, his other hand itching for his blade already, and the blood-rushing numb that always accompanied wielding it in battle.

“What if there isn’t an ‘after’--”

“-- Goodbye, Clarus.”

“Cor!  Don’t fucking do this!” Clarus’s voice was tight with more panic than rage, and Cor did not immediately hang up because he couldn’t decide whether that odd note made him angry or… a little guilty,  “This isn’t going to  _ change _ anything.  She’s  _ gone _ , Cor, this won’t bring her back!  This won’t make it  _ right _ ! You have a  _ duty _ to Regis-- to his Majesty!  Do you dare risk all for naught in return?!”

Cor settled on anger-- a worn, cold type of anger, and it was evident in the bloodless tone of his voice, “With respect, Clarus: fuck off.”

Then he cut the call and let the phone fall from his hand, striding resolute into the caverns.

\----------------------------

 

“... I’m… sorry…”

“Shut up, Cor,” Regis sighed, worrying the stone in his hands, “Stop apologizing.  Sleep.”

“... I’m sorry… I told… Clarus to… fuck off.”

“Tell  _ him _ then.  Later. When you’re better,” The Prince insisted, “I said stop apologizing.”

Cor was fevered, soaked with sweat, and sleep only came in restless bouts.  The hunter-medic they’d tracked down had assured them the condition was part-and-parcel of the extent of his injuries-- a psychosomatic response instead of evidence of infection.  He’d recover from it after good sleep. He couldn’t sleep, though, so he writhed and babbled brokenly, drunk on shame and what smacked of  _ despair _ to Regis.

“... I should have… died.”

“You should have,” Regis agreed tightly, “But you didn’t, you immortal, invincible, monumentally  _ stupid-lucky _ asshole.  And we’re all  _ glad _ , but  _ fuck _ , Cor…”

“I’m sorry…”

“Shut- _ up _ , Cor…” Regis swallowed hard, because there was such  _ pain _ in Cor’s voice and it was getting to him, the idea of Cor hurting.  The idea of the little shit  _ actually sorry _ , but for all the wrong reasons.

Sorry that he’d failed, and somehow had the audacity to  _ live _ where countless others had died.

“... I’m sorry I couldn’t… save her,” He told his young friend, “I don’t understand her reasoning, but I’m sorry it… happened this way.  I wish things had gone differently. I do.”

“... Me too.” The teenager sighed, “... Couldn’t either.”

Crushed by the fullness of his defeat, Cor finally succumbed to sleep.


	3. 20 Years Ago

The Marshal waited, lingering in the shadows between two squat buildings.  He’d been crouched here, still as death, long enough for his wounded shoulder to grow numb and stiff all the way to his ribs and elbow.  It was a bad wound, probably-- not that he’d stopped to check it-- but it was still dark and the villages in South Niflheim did not bother with exterior lighting to thwart daemons.  The creatures roved the dusty streets with impunity, only driven off by the rather  _ routine _ MT patrols.

The people followed the water here in the desert, and settled where it did, since most of their meager belongings were collapsible and portable, thanks to the advanced technology found throughout the sands and whatever could be brought back from the capital.  The dwellings often were as well, though some more seasonably reliable villages, like this one, featured low adobe buildings. It was such a  _ stark difference _ from the way the rest of the world lived, and yet outside of the inherent dangers of letting  _ monsters _ linger just outside their doorsteps at night, Cor could appreciate the complete self-reliance of it.  Like the Hunters outside the Wall. Most inconveniences and dangers-- like large, dangerous fauna and nuisance Imperial patrol chokepoints-- could simply be  _ avoided _ .  Besides, the lack of light did make it easier to slip in and out without being detected.

He’d only stopped here for water, before moving on to the over-land shipping depot six miles south that would take him back to the coast where he could find passage back to Lucis.  The daemon ambush had been unexpected and slowed him. The current MT patrol was  _ also _ slowing him, which was why he’d crouched here, hazarding his options between waiting them out or attacking them and blowing his cover in the only civilization for miles.

 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”  The whisper came from far too close behind him, and Cor’s boot knife was in his hand--no reason to call for either his katana or shortblade and alert the MTs to his presence with the glare of magic-- even as he turned to bury it in the vicinity of the stranger’s ribs.

They didn’t bother to move, which, at first, made it easier, but then made it a horrible mistake.  His knife got lost somewhere in the folds of her pale-colored robe garment when they twisted idly to the side, and then they closed with him, burying the fingers of one hand in his wounded shoulder and the other over his mouth to muffle his grunt of pain.

“Shh.” The shadow advised calmly, still whispering, expression unreadable in the dark, “You will not easily cut me with that little knife.  But you should not cut me. You should not be out here. Come inside.”

Given the options of struggling with them here and alerting the MTs, or cooperating with them long enough to slip away again, the Marshal decided to nod under their hand.  He could always kill them later, as distasteful as it would probably be. They dropped their hands, but did not step away from him, leaving his knife hand trapped somewhere in the tangling cloth at their back and their body tucked along his side under his arm-- he was almost a foot taller than and a good hundred pounds heavier-- a woman, he was convinced.  This was a woman. Even without his conscious effort, his mind picked apart the tactical advantages and disadvantages of his situation: he could easily overpower her, even with just one arm free but that wasn’t his uninjured _sword_ arm, not that he needed the accuracy at this range, but then again neither did _she_ and both her arms were free and that was _definitely_ the sheath of a large knife digging into his hip, could he stop her from drawing it into his belly?  Probably so, but there was no reason to assume she had only _one_ knife and two hands-- she was clearly used to close-quarters fighting.  Finally, if they made _any_ significant noise, he’d have an entire patrol of MTs to deal with…

She led him back around the backside of the buildings, away from the MTs-- though they heard the group splitting to conduct a larger sweep-- and then to the very next squat building before ducking through the open door and into the lamplight.  The door was then closed and locked behind them. Shrugging out of the robe garment, the woman crossed to the neat kitchen area, digging through a basket.

“Put your knife away.  Sit.” She was still whispering, “You are injured.”

The interior was small-- too small for his height-- with two rooms separated by a wall jutting halfway through the middle.  This was the common room, just large enough for a small cookstove, the storage baskets, and the small, low table recently wiped of dust. The other side seemed to feature a sort of cot or bed and more storage baskets.  There was nobody else inside. Cor managed to free his hand and knife from the twisted garment and dropped it on the table. He put the knife away, but only because he could have superior weapons on hand instantly, and doing so would at least give the  _ appearance _ of cooperation.

The woman wore rough, likely second-hand clothing too large for her frame.  He had the impression of a very wiry, very thin and underfed build. Her dark hair was cut short and uneven-- like it’d been done with a knife without the benefit of a mirror-- and when she turned to face him, holding a bundle of first aid supplies, he saw that it was two different colors, the hair framing her face almost blonde and wiry, like it’d been singed by fire.  Her eyes were strange as well, tawny gold ringed with a dark color near the whites.

She wore the face of a ghost, and Cor could only stare.  Gaunt and tanned by the harsh desert, but still a face he recognized, even after ten years.  She smiled at his realization, and lowered her eyes, as if embarrassed.

“I said to sit,” She informed him, voice hushed.

“You…?” He whispered back, ten years of cold, dreadful certainty suddenly called into question, and the axis of the entire world shifted beneath the Marshal’s feet.

She shrugged, “Sit.  You’re bleeding everywhere.”

He sat, if only because he suspected the integrity of his knees just now.   _ Ten years _ .  He’d been convinced she was gone, had no reason to believe otherwise, considering she was never heard from again, declared legally dead, and Ulldor had married a seventh time.  He’d let go of the arrogant notion of storming into Gralea to take his self-righteous vengeance after the Tempering Grounds. He’d buried his feelings, left no longer relevant questions unasked and undisturbed, threw himself back into his duties, and become the Marshal of the Crownsguard under Regis.  It had seemed like the only right thing to do, after everything.

She knelt in front of him and wordlessly began to peel off his shirt until he grabbed both of her wrists-- stunned by their frailty in his powerful hands, “You were dead.”

She met his eyes, and they were  _ so different _ , light and blazing where they’d only been deep and warm years ago, but they invited him to lose himself all the same.  Cor set his jaw, and held back.

“That is what they say.” She agreed quietly, unflinching, “If I was not, then I was very close to it.”

“You died on your wedding night ten years ago.” He insisted, feeling the shards of ten years of quiet, undisturbed grief and guilt catch in his throat.

“In the nuptial suite, in my white gown that likely beggared a small country to make,” She acceded, as if unaware that the subject and her words-- and lack of apparent regard-- ought to be handled with more gravitas, “after I informed him that I had chosen for myself a Lucian, so that he might understand I was not his property.  He regaled me with the error of my thinking, took by force the part of me he correctly presumed was still untouched, and as I writhed in agony upon the bed, summoning my fury…”

She paused and regarded his face, the draining color, the icy steel hardening in his eyes, and the line of tension from temple to shoulder, and laughed, dry and light, “... He stabbed me in the back, leaving me there, impaled with his sword to the mattress.”

She freed her hands and stripped his shirt in two abrupt motions while he was distracted by her words and candor.

“It was a slow death-- if I indeed died.” She went on, pouring onto a scrap of cloth what smelled like vinegar, but might have been wine, “Do you know, I wonder, how difficult it is to scream while your diaphragm grips half a pound of sharpened steel?” Her eyes dropped from his face, and she brought up a finger to trace a elongated diamond-shaped scar on his pectoral, “Ah.  You do.”

The Marshal had experienced a great deal of  _ war _ , with all that it entailed, but something slick and cold and edged turned over in his belly and he licked his lips, voice choked in his throat, rendering it only a whisper, “How did you get here?”

She hesitated, turning over the question in her mind while she brought the vinegar soaked cloth to his wounded shoulder, blotting away the crusting blood and blown sand.  Tiny teeth of pain sank through him, sharp and insistent, “... I lost consciousness, of course. They say I died, and perhaps I did. Eventually, I imagine I was disposed of-- after the pomp and ceremony of a funeral.  I don’t know if I had one at all-- do you?” But she didn’t give him room to answer, “I woke in a strange place, surrounded by sickly blue light in a metal and glass capsule full of… fluid. Like an unnatural womb. I was able to open it by force, from the inside, and I… went searching for all of my answers.”

“ _ Besithia _ .” Cor hissed, swallowing the sick that clawed up his esophagus.

“Mm.” Her brows lifted, as if his knowledge on the matter surprised her, “His work and resources, yes.  I never found out if I ever afforded his personal attention, however, and was simply abandoned later for other pursuits.  But I did not find him there. There was another-- a lowly follower. It was him I found. Him and the unliving, unfinished things at his disposal for security.”

His shoulder wound was red and raw, stinging earnestly while a deeper pain clambered through bones, tumbling to his ribcage.  From a small adobe pot she pulled out black-green plant material that had been dried and then soaked in some kind of congealed liquid.  It smelled worse than it looked, and Cor stilled her hands again.

“Nestwort,” She told him, moving her hands out from under his, “That was seven years ago.  Seven years ago I stumbled into the desert, naked and not-dead, and the desert reshaped me into something almost-wise and very fierce, because the alternative was to die  _ again _ , and that was an indignity I was not prepared to suffer.”

She put the strings of pickled plant matter on his shoulder and began wrapping with the clean bandages.  Ice settled through his veins there and clenched muscles relaxed of their own volition, “... But I am not the only one, am I, Cor Leonis, Immortal Marshal of the Crownsguard?”

Their eyes met, and he could not sink into her gaze because hers was ochre flame, but it caught him nonetheless and he was not surprised to discover the intensity with which he burned.

_ Again _ .  Ten years of regret and a horror story changed little, it seemed.

“Do you know what they say about you here?” She asked, shifting closer on her knees to secure the wrap more firmly round his shoulder before changing the direction to brace across his chest, but she was happy to answer her own questions, “They say you are a specter, more and less of a man than others.  They say the widows who curse your name die choking on your blade that same night.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes.” Her face was animated, amused, beautiful in the lamplight, “They say you butcher men in the street, in front of their children, so that they better know to fear you and give thanks for their lives.”

“Hm.”

“They say the water dries when you pass, and the herds sicken.  They say you are plague and death incarnate.”

“I like the sound of that,” He murmured wryly, unable to focus on much more than her nearness as everything twisted and unburying itself inside melted into the singular conviction that  _ he wanted her _ desperately, “‘Plague and death incarnate’ in Niflheim…”

She gave a soft bark of laughter and drew away, “When a man dares to mention that the teeth of Lucis are broken, another man mentions you and says that broken teeth leave more terrible wounds.  Do not look at me that way. In seven years I would not bear the indignity of another death, but to avoid it I sacrificed  _ much _ and bore  _ other _ indignities.  I am unclean. I am not your Princess anymore.”

The Marshal’s voice was thick, but a hard, cold edge was there, “And I was  _ never _ your Lucian consort.  I have  _ always _ been the broken, bloody teeth of my kings.”

She smiled again, putting away her things carefully, “And which miserable throat have you come to tear open out here in the desert?  Nothing and noone is worthy of your notice here…”

His hand moved before he could stop it, but then he  _ did _ , and it was left hovering there in the air between them, longing for, but not daring to touch the soft skin at her neck and the tangle of her short hair, “... I wouldn’t say that.”

She regarded his hand, his loosely outstretched fingers, and then his face, “Why do you desire me?  I am not what you lost. The last time you extended your hand, I slapped it away, as I did the time before.  I shamed the man who is now your king. I went to a man I despised-- your enemy-- and reaped the reward of pride.  I defiled that which you treasured to survive in this land. What could I possibly offer you, the legendary Immortal?  The  _ Teeth of Lucis _ ?”

“... You could let me kiss you.” He hadn’t asked such questions in ten years-- irrelevant, kept buried-- and he wasn’t about to start now.  So little had apparently changed in that time, preserved inside the framework of everything else he’d built up around it.

And her.  Despite her insistence of the contrary, she seemed very much the same proud, passionate, unapologetic woman he’d met in Altissia.  Broken at the edges, shattered to sharp points by the turns her life had taken in a decade, just as he was, but undeniably the same.

She watched him, warily, as if sensing a trap, and Cor waited, offering patience he didn’t feel.  It had not escaped him that she’d told him twice now how others had taken liberties with her body.

“How strange,” She observed, voice soft as she eased nearer so that his knuckles brushed her cheek, “They speak so frequently of your viciousness…”

His hand cupped her face, calloused by the heft of two swords and countless battles, “It’s true.”

Turning her cheek, he felt her lips press against the heel of his hand, followed by the grazing edge of teeth.  Her fiery eyes caught his again, and scorched through him, “Show me.”

He wouldn’t.   _ Couldn’t _ .  Some ancient instinct inside twinging the idea aside-- revealing all his jagged edges to her now would only bring out  _ hers _ , and they’d both be left bloody ribbons of ruin on the dusty floor.

He’d come here for water.  So he moved to her and drank deep, convinced he could taste the sea and wind of the archipelago even still.  She did not yield, she advanced aggressively, meeting him with the edges of more teeth, both hands moving to his bare and bandaged chest, dragging with fingernails enough to be felt, but not enough to hurt.  Not yet.

Cor didn’t know, really, how they’d gotten to the bed, but he was poignantly aware when his back hit the thin mattress with her straddling his hips, sitting upright to disrobe.

“Wait--”

“-- I am not a princess anymore,” She hissed sharply, amusement immediately turning to frustration, “there is no reason for you to hesitate…”

“No.  You’re not.  But  _ I’m _ not those others, either.”  He burned, throbbed, ached from every bone, but even  _ so _ , he’d been forged into something  _ better _ by his proximity to Regis, and he could not compromise it.  Not even now, hard and torched from the inside with desire.

She seemed to sense it, watching his face, and she softened at last, leaning down to press her brow to his, eyes hooded, “Show me.”

He did.  Slowly, like discovering something both sacred and exquisite.  Twice. Then exhaustion claimed them and they collapsed in a tangle.  He held her close against the cool of night.

\----------------------------

 

“There is a man here with me.”

Cor fought to consciousness, vaguely aware that he’d dozed through the banging on the door, through Ariel’s leaving his arms and the bed to answer it, the opening of the door, and the beginning of a brusque conversation entailing how the person outside was coming  _ inside _ for some kind of inspection.

Even now, with the edge of panic thundering through his blood, he still felt foggy and languid.  She’d drugged him-- of  _ course _ she had, he’d sat there while she did it!

He did not think himself a stupid man-- he was  _ not _ a  _ stupid _ man.  But he’d been accused of recklessness before, and when Ariel was involved, it seemed it brought out the  _ worst _ recklessness he had to offer.

For no reason at all, he’d trusted her  _ implicitly _ .  Even after all she’d said about his reputation in this country.  Even after she’d told him how she’d sold  _ herself _ to survive-- why had he thought she wouldn’t sell  _ him _ out as well?  The price for ‘the Immortal’ of Lucis would set her up for a long time out here.  But he couldn’t let it happen. Not for his own sake, but for Regis and Insomnia. He wouldn’t compromise them.  Not even for her.

He’d kill her if he had to.  He could.  _ Would _ .  The certainty settled cool and icy over his body under the thin blanket as he blinked aside gummy sleepiness and watched her at the door, wearing nothing but the pale robe garment (with the hole in the back now) loosely about her thin figure.  He could see the shadow of an armored trooper falling over her.

Before stepping back to grant the Imperial admittance into the adobe building, her eyes found Cor’s and held his gaze, unflinching under the steely accusation there.  She laughed and put a finger to her lips:

_ Stay quiet. _

Cor didn’t get up when the troopers--three of them, though two seemed to be MTs-- filed into the common room and started rooting through the baskets.  He  _ did _ hold Ariel’s gaze and draw his thumb across his throat though, frowning:   _ I should kill you. _

She grinned and pulled aside the robe to expose her left breast and that side of her chest, revealing the large, knotted scar dreadfully close to where her heart rested:   _ I wish you luck. _

_ Six _ , he loved her.  Even now.

The troopers finished overturning everything in the common area and were coming back toward him in the sleeping area.  The lead trooper’s eyes simply scanned over him before gesturing to the blanket covering his modesty.

“Anything under there of interest?”

“Only to some,” Quipped the woman, still grinning.

They searched around him, ignored him like he wasn’t there-- like he  _ wasn’t _ the biggest threat to their entire nation-- and then bustled out without another word.

Ariel retrieved his clothing and tossed them at him, “Now we must leave.”

Cor didn’t argue with her sentiment and dressed himself, noting the lack of pain and stiffness in his wounded shoulder.

“Where are you going?” was her question, stepping into her pants from last night.

Looking at her, the resolve settled in his mind and he replied, “I’m not telling you unless you’re coming with me.”

Because it was ever his lot to take the same path twice, and never learn his lesson.

She looked at him, eyes flickering, “With you?  To Lucis?”

“Yes.”

“... It’s a terrible risk for you.”

“I’m willing.”  More than willing.  She’d been  _ dead _ for ten years, and now that she  _ wasn’t _ , and it wasn’t necessary to kill her for selling him out, he wasn’t sure he could go back to living like she  _ was _ .  He couldn’t just leave her here, a relic forgotten in the sands like so many others.

She laughed then, dry and hoarse, “You know my first desire is to tell you no, again.  To insist on my own way.”

“Yes.” He did know. “I’m not asking you to take  _ my _ way, I’m asking you to come with me and find your way in Lucis.”

She was still laughing, “I cannot claim to be ‘almost-wise’ and take the path of pride again, remembering that it led to a disgraceful and very publicized death.  Very well. I will go with you, and perhaps you will find a way to make it worth it…?”

\----------------------------

 

They made excellent time to the coast, travelling light and quick.  The crew of the hidden transport had balked at Ariel’s presence, but the Marshal had simply intoned that she was with  _ him _ and no further questions were asked.

It’d tickled her, seeing his reputation and authority at work, and that was perhaps  _ one _ of the reasons she spent the entirety of the voyage across the sea muffling her snickering into various parts of his body, in the hold, with her limbs entangled with his, and him trying to satisfy the longing of a decade in her flesh all at once.  Like he thought she’d vanish at any moment. She laughed about that as well, sewing her mirth into his skin as if to etch it into his  _ bones _ .

Once he woke and she was not with him, and he could not be satisfied until setting eyes on her again, assuring himself with hard evidence that she wasn’t  _ gone _ , snatched away by Niflheim or  _ fate _ or whatever  _ price _ that came attached to  _ having her _ .

He’d found her in the small latrine with the chipped piece of mounted glass that served as a mirror, staring at herself.

“... What a horror,” She said softly to him after many silent minutes of the both of them studying her reflection. “I’ve some trepidation about your sincerity in this endeavor.”

“What do you mean?”

She hummed, quiet in the back of her throat, “I knew I was different-- _ changed _ .  But  _ this _ is a horror.  Lucis must be a land of very desperate, pitiable men if the greatest among them finds the means to satisfy himself in the rubble of the bloodthirsty desert.”

It took Cor several breaths to unpack that she hadn’t seen her own face in ten years, and that somehow, she did not find what she saw as beautiful.  Then he laughed at her, ignoring her narrow-eyed look, even ignoring the way her hackles raised as she stalked toward him. He did not, however, ignore the way she reached for him, and instead grabbed her  _ first, _ pinning her against the nearest vertical surface and kissed her roughly.

“Still the  _ vanity _ of a princess,” He murmured when she did not fight him.  She bit his lip and he laughed again, burying it in her mouth-- bared teeth and all.

He did not tell her the quiet, bristling words he’d had with the crew when he’d caught them watching and whispering about her.  He did not tell her how he was dreading the return to Insomnia, where his duty and her fierce independence would tear them apart, and she would find countless others willing and eager to divest themselves of sense and dignity for the chance to entertain her.

\----------------------------

 

The trip across the continent was not much different from the trip across the sea, save it did much to satisfy Ariel’s vanity.  She received as much attention as Cor dreaded she might, especially in the small, dusty settlements occupied predominantly by Hunters.  It was  _ Lestallum _ , however, that’d changed her mind once and for all, with it’s beautiful and powerfully independent women.  There’d almost been a street brawl when one of the workers found her husband chatting up the Princess of Accordo.

Ariel spent much of that night in the Leville laughing at Cor, and Cor likewise buried the intensity of his convoluted feelings in her until she  _ couldn’t _ anymore between moans and breathlessness.

“It is a shame your possessive jealousy is so apparently bad for my health,” She mused, fingering the fresh bruises on her hip, “since it is so  _ very _ amusing.”

“I’d apologize,” He mumbled into the lean planes of her bare belly, “but I’d be lying.  And you don’t want me to be anyway.”

They both knew it wasn’t really jealousy.  The Marshal had no claims on her to defend and no room to give her limitations-- not with the entirety of his life inexorably bound to the throne of Lucis in service.  More still, the moment she was acknowledged by Regis, she’d be his social and political superior. She was her own, not his, and if she wanted a piece of  _ anybody _ in this town or any other, she was welcome to it, in Cor’s honest opinion.  It wasn’t really jealousy. Nothing so  _ simple _ .

But the Marshal preferred ‘simple’, so he let her call it ‘possessive jealousy’ while he told himself he was feasting in preparation for the  _ famine _ that would come.  He fed the desperate delusion that it’d be  _ enough _ , the memory of her passion and callous mirth with him, when she was  _ beyond him _ again.

\----------------------------

 

Cor liked his blows to come quickly, so he did not turn down the offered car and did not make any unnecessary stops between Lestallum and Insomnia.  He hurled himself toward the inevitable hurt, steady and remorseless.

“You are a desperate masochist,” She told him from the passenger side, watching the scenery, “A slave, even, to your thirst for suffering.”

“I’m not, actually.”

She turned her head and looked at him, “What if you’re wrong?”

“About?”

“All of this.  Everything.” A wide gesture to the harsh landscape of Leide, “You are so convinced your Regis will care a  _ thing _ about me.”

Scowling, Cor flexed his hands on the steering wheel, “Even if he doesn’t  _ personally _ , he will  _ politically _ .  You were murdered ten years ago on your wedding night-- the people of Altissia were rioting in the streets for a week before Imperial forces gave a… strong response.”

“... They massacred them, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“...  Regis will use this for another alliance attempt.”

“Accordo doesn’t have much in the way of a military to offer anymore… but yes.”

“Stop the car.”

When he didn’t immediately obey, she opened her door.  Cor lunged to grab the far end of her seat, crushing her back against it with the strong bar of his arm.  It was only him pulling to the side of the road and slowing to a stop that prevented her from clawing his face and eyes out with both hands.

“I told you before,” She snarled viciously, “I will not be Lucis’s plaything.  Certainly not a political puppet or collateral for blackmail. You will  _ not _ ransom me for the sympathy and support of my people!”

“That’s not my call.” Was his quiet admission, breathing down the rush of adrenaline.

“I will tell your king I will not be the Princess of Accordo for his convenience-- that she is  _ dead _ \-- and you will not gainsay me.” She told him. “For I swear, one of us will be a  _ cold corpse _ before I agree to this.”

It wasn’t Cor’s fight.  This was an argument of thrones, a place he’d never sit, and so he said nothing and simply nodded his acknowledgement of her assertion and leaned over to close her door again.

He felt her glaring, “So  _ this _ is why you are suddenly in such a hurry to return to your Insomnia?  This and  _ not _ your desire to hasten your suffering at our parting?”

“No.  I’m not in a hurry… but there’s no reason to linger.” He glanced at her, “Besides, my suffering is good for your vanity.”

“Cor.”

She so seldom used his name-- he could count on one hand the times-- so the reflex to brake again was not entirely his fault.  He looked at her once more. She pushed the gearshift into park and then leaned across the center console so that she was half-sprawled in his lap, hands on his shoulders, “Here’s something for  _ yours _ : I did not leave the familiarity of the desert for your king, or my curiosity, or fear of discovery by the Empire, or the promise of my restoration to comfort and plenty.  I left to follow  _ you _ .  I will never tell you pretty things, or make grand gestures, or heartfelt proclamations-- I am too wild and proud a creature for such baubles in  _ earnest _ \-- but even so I came here to follow  _ you _ .  Tell me that is what you wanted when you beckoned me.”

“It is.” Because it was.  Regis and Accordo hadn’t even entered his thoughts until he’d stepped foot back on Imperial-occupied Lucian soil.

“So let us keep it at that.  I will go with you and your king need not be involved at all.”

He frowned, “I can’t do that.”

“So then you lied to me…?” An eyebrow quirked, her pale ochre eyes blazing.

His own narrowed, “Never once.”

“You said I did not have to take  _ your _ way in this land…”

“I did,” He shrugged under her hands, “You don’t.  You can go.” His head tilted toward the passenger door and the corner of his mouth twitched, “Now that the car is stopped.”

She watched his face for several long breaths, silent, thinking in circles.

Warring with herself.

So Cor said, “But you won’t.”

She blinked, frowned, “... Ah.  Your legendary viciousness.”

Nodding, he reached up, tracing her jawline, “I warned you.”

She laughed, “You did!  Here I thought myself still so skilled in the arts of manipulation, but it has been  _ me _ caught in the snare this entire time.”

“To be fair,” He pulled her into a kiss, and was surprised she had no teeth for him, “we’re both in a stranglehold.”

\----------------------------

 

The shouting was still ringing off every solid surface by the time Cor had managed to wrench the knife out of her hand while keeping her and both wrists pinned to the floor.  It was an ugly thing, the knife, curved like a talon and sharpened on both sides, made of tarnished metal and animal bone, but Ariel had drawn it during her advance on the throne, and the way it  _ looked _ mattered only because it was a  _ weapon _ .

Cor knew she had no intention of using it on the King-- had no hope of it, either, with both himself and Clarus right there, not to mention Regis’s own arms-- but he’d moved anyway, too well-trained, too riled on adrenaline from the vicious words and raised voices between royals.

“ _ No _ , damn you!   _ Tidemother take you _ and your fucking rat-trap city,  _ no! _ ” She screamed, half-muffled in the dark marble as Cor pinned her mercilessly on her face.

Regis’s brow clouded thunderously, “... By the Six, Cor,  _ let her up _ … I can’t talk to her while she’s shrieking into the floor…”

It was a simple task to haul her back onto her feet-- harsh life in the desert left her weighing almost nothing at all.  The only troubled was how she thrashed, trying to find purchase on him to exact revenge for the indignity.

Once she was safely on her feet-- still disarmed, curved knife in Cor’s keeping-- Regis sighed and began patiently, “... So you will  _ not _ \--”

“-- _ No _ .  I will  _ not _ allow you to ‘restore’ me my rank.  It isn’t  _ yours _ to  _ restore! _  My parents-- the King and Queen of Altissia, may I remind you-- are either ensconced comfortably in  _ Gralea _ in  _ Aldercapt’s court _ or  _ dead _ !  You say the islands are quiet now, enjoying peace--  _ let them _ , damn you!”

Regis’s frown deepened, “The peace will not last.”

“Peace  _ never _ lasts, but  _ you _ don’t get to decide when to interrupt it for  _ my people _ to support  _ your _ political machinations!” Ariel flared.

“You call them ‘your’ people,” Clarus pointed out, attempting to sound wise and patient, and not as floored as he felt, while also trying to relax his shoulders, “but you are still denying the responsibility of your station…”

“My  _ responsibility _ to my people ended on my wedding night, when Caligo Ulldor  _ slew me _ ,” And she smiled, a brilliant, beautiful,  _ terrible _ smile, full of wild malice, “and proved that the Empire’s good-intentions could not be relied upon.  If I understand what you have told me, things have  _ improved _ for Accordo as Niflheim tries to  _ save face _ for their atrocities.   _ Tell me _ how I have failed to  _ serve _ my people?  Do not confuse  _ my responsibility _ with  _ your whim. _  I am not  _ yours _ to command.”

“Do you think Accordo will be  _ spared _ if they do nothing?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, “But I  _ do know _ you’ve no right to condemn them.   _ You _ hiding behind your  _ fucking magic, here! _  Altissia does not have the  _ benefit _ of a ‘wall’.  We do not have the  _ luxury _ of territory to  _ surrender _ .  If Niflheim attacks, my people will  _ burn _ , Regis!  They will be  _ slaughtered wholesale _ with  _ nowhere to retreat to! _  Can you  _ blame them _ for not wishing to bring  _ war _ upon their city?”

When noone made a reply-- for any of the manifest reasons hanging in the air-- the woman turned and stormed out of the room, past Cor, without another word.

“She’s worse than  _ you are _ ,” Clarus accused the Marshal after the door slammed shut and some of the tension bled out of the room, “What in the world are you going to  _ do _ with her?”

“Me?” Cor managed to say evenly with a very straight face, pretending his friends and lords were not staring directly at his bite-bruised lips or the marks on his neck.

“Whatever her wishes, she’s still a princess,” Regis was saying, rubbing his forehead like it pained him, “her place is in the Citadel.”

“Absolutely  _ not _ ,” Clarus objected, “not that  _ hellcat _ .”

“Only if you put her in a cell,” Cor mused wryly, “and I don’t recommend it.”

The King of Lucis glared down from his throne and grumbled irascibly, “All right, then, what do you suggest?”

\----------------------------

 

It lasted a week.  It was not a good week-- parts of it were, shining blindingly, flaring bright with passion and pleasure and laughter-- but on the whole, it was not a good week.

The first two days she’d spent out on the streets, and had seemed content that the city would satisfy.  She returned in the evenings and waited for him to quit the Citadel to share what she’d discovered. Then she clawed him out of his uniform and he took  _ his _ day--with all of it’s trials and frustrations, and all the petty slights and intrigues of the court-- out on her body, and she’d stitch her humor at his expense into his flesh, digging her laughter into his bones like her wicked joy might bear fruit in him.

But something happened the third day-- Cor never learned  _ what _ \-- and she stopped going out.  She stayed in the apartment, driving herself stir crazy.  She withdrew-- from the city, and from him-- and it wasn’t until the fifth day that he decided to corner her and question her about it-- about what was  _ wrong _ .

Her reaction surprised him-- he had expected snarling and bristling, but she did neither.  She apologized, then took him to bed and made love to him, long and sweet and slow, with no teasing or laughter, only something very earnest and focused on her face and in her flickering eyes.

“What are you looking for?” He whispered.

“Me,” Was her soft reply, palms spreading across the map of war in the lines of his body, “Myself.”

“You’re here.  With me.” He murmured, and the words were sweet.  Foolish. They embarrassed him-- the vulnerability in them, the naked  _ want _ , and he felt the blush along his throat and ears in the dark, but he did not turn his eyes away from her.

He was sure if he did, she would vanish like a phantom.  Everything had a price, and he did not think he’d paid enough yet.

“Yes.” She agreed.  But she did not stop searching.

Not for two more days.

 

It happened in the middle of the street.  She just  _ stopped _ walking, staring at him several strides ahead when he turned to look at her.  She met his eyes, and he  _ knew. _

“I can’t.” She said, smiling that brilliant,  _ terrible _ smile.

For a moment, Cor debated turning and continuing alone.  He considered standing still and watching her turn and walk away from him.  But he did neither. He liked his blows to come quick and vicious, and this one had been building for a week.

Or longer.  Too long already.

So he went to her, and watched her expression crumble around that beautiful smile.

“I followed you,” She said, “and you… You do not disappoint.”

“Such flattery.” The snide remark was worth it-- worth it to see the ferocity return to her face.  He thought she’d slap him-- realized he  _ wanted her to _ , like before, ten years ago-- and she  _ did _ raise her hands, digging the fingers of both into his collar to drag him down to her eye-level.

“I love you.” She said savagely, like a scourge she could carve through his chest, “But I  _ hate _ your city.  Your claustrophobic, joyless city.  I love you, but I will burn down around you everything  _ you love _ if you do not let me go, Cor.”

He said, “All right.”

It didn’t seem much of a blow.  It didn’t hurt-- it wasn’t  _ pleasant _ , but it didn’t hurt.  He thought it should, but didn’t  _ dig _ at it for the reasons why.

Enough other things hurt.  It was enough that this didn’t.  For now.

\----------------------------

 

She wanted out of the city, so he took her with him back across the continent to meet with Camille and Alcimus, two Crownsguard who’d been investigating Besithia’s labs in greater depth.  They’d reported complications that’d delayed them, and that they were returning with evidence-- something  _ big _ .  So Cor took her and they went.  The trip was very similar to the previous one, save that they had a car the entire time, and also the Imperial blockades and patrols were more aggressive.

Cor learned that Ariel’s crude, curved knife was not for show.  She preferred ambush-and-tackle tactics, carving huge wounds and leaving targets twitching and writhing.  There was very little  _ follow-through _ , though, and Cor endeavored to improve her methods.  She explained that  _ blitz-striking _ Imperial patrols worked  _ perfectly well _ in the South Niflheim, just so long as she could  _ get away _ .  The Marshal replied dryly that there was a benefit to  _ finishing what she started _ .

Sparring entered their evening routine-- right before they ended up in a sweaty, sneering tangle, half-dressed and not taking the effort to finish taking off the rest.

It was good.  Cor admitted they were  _ better _ out here.

Camille and Alcimus were in ragged shape when the Marshal caught up with them, still shivering from the memory of bizzard cold, worn and battered from fighting for their lives every step of the way through increased MT patrols and even  _ more _ plagues of daemons that skulked through Niflheim.  They had their evidence, even, but it was  _ not _ very big.  It was a human baby.

Blonde and blue-eyed, Alcimus called him ‘Prompto’, and the name had some special significance that the two Crownsguard neglected to share.

Around the first campfire, Ariel tended to wounds with her skill while the two told Cor everything their reports hadn’t said, offering the somewhat younger man the deference his position and reputation deserved.  It was a horror story, the kind that gripped their guts with wintry, bony claws and dragged.

“But you only found the one?” Ariel asked, glancing at the babe in question, wrapped in the Marshal’s jacket, “Even though the documents said there were  _ batches _ ?”

“I think there was some kind of mistake,” Alcimus shrugged, “He was the only one we could find.  In another part of the facility… there was evidence that there were… others. Remains.”

Camille was looking at Cor’s face over her broken glasses, “... He would have died-- starved or worse-- if we hadn’t taken him, sir…”

Alcimus grimaced and ruffled his dark blonde hair, “Not that it didn’t almost happen  _ anyway _ …”

As if on cue, the baby began to fuss loudly.

 

“... You’re going to show him to Regis.” Ariel said quietly, tawny eyes glowing from the embers.  The two agents fresh from Niflheim were tucked in the tent. Their evidence was snoring softly into the crook of the princess’s knee, (Or was ‘ex-princess’ more appropriate?  Cor wondered…) content and warm with a belly full, but she did not otherwise touch him.

Cor nodded, “It’s his decision.”

“Regis will find some way to use this.  Some  _ political scheme _ or  _ angle. _ ”

“That’s his choice.” He shrugged.

She grimaced, flashing teeth in displeasure, “It’s  _ monstrous _ !”

“The boy will be cared for.  Regis is not the King his father was.  He  _ also _ has a son, not too much different in age from… Prompto, here.” Was the patient explanation, “Beyond that… it’s war, and Lucis is… losing.  We’ll take any edge we can get.”

“You trust so much in his compassion…” Ariel scoffed.

“Ariel.” The Marshal’s voice sharpened, and he caught her eyes with his own with the steel there, “He is my king, and my friend.  My  _ brother _ .  Do you understand?  I do not doubt what I  _ know _ .  You would be wise to not question my loyalties.”

His words from before lingered, unspoken in the air:  _ I have always been the broken, bloody teeth of my kings. _

She made no reply and neither of them said anything more about it.

 

Ariel broke the tense silence, as was her usual, “He’s very small for his age.”  Four months, they’d figured, from the scraps of documentation and his physical tells.

“Not surprising.” Was the noncommittal response, then the corner of the Marshal’s mouth twitched, “You look comfortable, though.  There with him.”

The ochre eyes narrowed, gleaming gold in the flickering firelight, “Disabuse yourself of the notion.  I do not mention his size out of maternal concern, I am considering his chances for survival.”

“Between the four of us resourceful adults, I think we can manage.” Cor rolled his eyes.

 

‘Managing’ was more of a feat than anticipated.  But it was accomplished, and the five of them arrived at Hammerhead Station to resupply and refuel before continuing on to Insomnia.  Everyone was glad to get out of the car and stretch their legs. Cor went to speak with Cid and when the old mechanic saw the young woman with the short dark hair and the familiar face, he took the opportunity to reach up and smack the Immortal upside the head.

“Just  _ couldn’t _ leave well enough alone, could ya?” He said in his most exasperated tone, but there was a curl of a smile hiding there.  He recommended staying the night at the caravan-- that having a full night’s rest under shelter would do them some good, and would allow them to get their heads on straight before going in front of the king.  They took his advice gladly. Alcimus, Camille, and Prompto went to sleep almost immediately. The Marshal found Ariel with Cid, going over her crude, hooked knife. She glanced up at his long, dark form in the sunset, met his eyes, and when hers did not reach to engulf him, he knew.

He knew.

Still, she left her weapon with the mechanic-- humming and hawing over it-- and walked with him to the edge of the pavement, before it dropped off into the desert.  He hadn’t touched her since their rendezvous with the other Crownsguard and their new young charge, always careful to separate his personal and professional lives, especially in front of his subordinates.  She seemed to understand, and hadn’t made any advances, or invited any. He saw no reason to change the dynamic.

“I’m going to be a Hunter,” She told him, “It’s the life I want.  Out here.”

Cor nodded, thinking it’d be a fine fit, regardless of how much it chafed at him-- her leaving, “I know a guy.”

Turning to him, an eyebrow arched, “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m not offering help.  I’ll introduce you. You can insult him all on your own.” He snarked back, “Which you will, after he learns you can’t actually kill anything off.”

When she didn’t answer, his eyes scanned away from the lengthening shadows to her face and the amusement there.

“Hmm,” She said quietly, “... Maybe I could use… a  _ little _ help.”

\----------------------------

 

Settling the business with Prompto was arduous, but once it was  _ done _ , Cor returned to Hammerhead and started the endeavor of coaching Ariel in hunting.  There was an initial learning curve, as she was unfamiliar with many native Lucin species of flora and fauna, but she proved already skilled in stalking and targeting prey.  She did not possess any natural fear of harm from  _ anything _ they encountered, which the Marshal could  _ not _ manage to teach her.  Regardless, by the end of the week, he was satisfied that she knew the basics of hunting-- and could actually kill something on her own without being killed in the process.  He introduced her to David, who signed her in and started on her tags.

Regis protested, of course, loudly and frequently.  There was no reason for the Princess of Accordo to engage in such a harrowing career as hunting.  Cor, as before, stayed out of the argument. Ariel did not engage either-- she focused on her training and tasks with a will-- considering herself beyond Regis’s influence.  It was  _ Cid _ who argued against the King-- until the day Regis commanded Cor to return to the Citadel with the Princess of Accordo.  Then Cid stopped speaking to the King of Lucis altogether. For almost twenty years.

Cor did as commanded by his king, feeling surly and tasked about it as much as the old mechanic, but Ariel went quietly, knowing better than to challenge his loyalties  _ again _ .  She was delivered to the throne room, and Cor was dismissed.

He stepped out into the corridor, and knew the fifteen minutes of quiet for what it was before the shouting began.

\----------------------------

 

After Ariel was released from the hospital, thirty-seven stitches in her side from where she’d gutted herself in front of the king and his Shield when they’d endeavored to  _ tell her _ how her future would go-- their best intentions, Cor knew-- and after the very arduous, steadily more and more drunk conference on the subject between the three old friends, Cor took her  _ back _ to Hammerhead, and released her back into the wild.

“Pity you had to be so dramatic,” The Marshal told her, “Can’t even give you a proper goodbye now.”

“You’re very amusing when you are sulky,” Was her reply, leaning in the driver window and kissing him soundly, teeth scoring open his lip, “It is only ‘goodbye’ if you stay in your rat-trap city.  Come and see me in two-weeks, I will be fully healed then.”

Then she left him there, bleeding and burning.  He did not think he would see her again, but two weeks later, he was scorched through, and he left the city and the Wall.

She was waiting for him.

\----------------------------

 

There were worse ways to spend twenty years, Cor figured.  His work was demanding and nigh all-consuming, but when he  _ did _ get a day or so to himself, he would leave the city and find her.  His days off were no less demanding than his working days, in the beginning, for the former princess was a harsh task-mistress-- for hunts, sparring, and also in the bedroll.  The Marshal didn’t mind. He’d return to his office bruised and sore, spent from his exertions, but carrying a languid ease that only the  _ truly satisfied _ could achieve.  It was enough, for a year or so.

They grew, from there, as individuals and a couple.  Ariel became a masterful huntress in her own right, and also brought the skills of her previous life to impressive use, organizing the efforts of the Hunters in a way that Dave had not had the know-how to attempt.  The Hunters of Leide became a force to be reckoned with, under Ariel, and Imperial forces and dangerous, mutated fauna grew scarce. So they spread their efforts into other territories, expanding Ariel’s influence. Cor’s reputation and authority within the city grew as well, albeit less dramatically-- he was already one of the most famous men in all of Lucis if not Eos-- and he was able to secure a more steady, secure supply-line--of goods  _ and _ pertinent intel-- in and out of the city by working with the Hunters of Leide.

Less of Cor and Ariel’s time together was spent exclusively fighting and fucking.  Sharpening their claws on each other became less of a priority, less of a form of entertainment, as they matured and chose to extend trust.  Cor discovered the difference between love and lust when he found himself looking forward to his ‘vacation’ in the wilds, planning on doing little more than laying his head in her lap in front of a fire, reading a book he’d brought, while she tended to her growing collection of wickedly curved knives, or reading the  _ other _ book he’d brought.  He realized he loved her--  _ really _ loved her, not the hot-blooded passion that’d always overcome his sense about her before-- when he admitted that his favorite thing about being with her was the way he could adjust the slowly crushing weight of his duty into a more relaxing place on his back.  Not  _ put it down _ , he could  _ never _ put it down, but it rested more easily upon him when he was with her.

“Your face is changing,” She told him one night, tracing the bridge of his nose with a fingertip, “you were always stoic… but it is becoming even more reserved.  ‘Stony’, one might even say.”

“Are you calling me stone-faced?” He queried, resisting the smirk.

“I don’t mean it as a criticism.  Maybe a little of a concern. Your rat-trap city is hard on you.”

Reaching up, he combed his fingers through her hair-- shoulder length now, but still two colors and textures, “You’ve changed too.  You hardly ever bite me now, and you never laugh at me like you used to.”

“I was very cruel.  Please do not tell me you miss it.”

“You’re more cruel now,” Was his observation, “Dave tells me so.  Often.”

She scoffed and nuzzled into his throat, teasing with the edge of teeth without actually biting, grinning at the sound he made, and the way his grip in her hair changed.

There was still plenty of sex, it just wasn’t the foundation of what they were, together, anymore.  They were partners and confidants, and though Ariel would never deign to be tied to the whim of Cor’s king, she worked tirelessly to secure the territories he could not protect with his magic.

 

No, it was not a terrible way to spend twenty years, and Cor realized he was plenty content--  _ happy _ even--despite the weight of his responsibilities, and the dragging chain of history and regrets for missteps and failures he dutifully carried.  Ariel too, seemed content and thriving in their life often-apart but sometimes folded neatly together. So when circumstance and the changing nature of the war saw them more frequently unable to meet, they endured, subsisting on short phone-calls and texts.

“Your rat-trap city is trying to kill you.” Ariel said fondly into his ear, intimately, as if she were not hundreds of miles away.

“And you’re letting those Kingsglaive try and kill  _ you _ .” He returned.

“Ha!  They are better about nearly killing  _ themselves _ .  Where did you find these miscreants?”

“Galahd, a lot of them.  Other places too. They’re not mine.”

“No.  Yours would be more disciplined and  _ mortified _ .  Have you gone  _ outside _ in a week?”

“Mm.” Was the non-committal response.

“That means ‘no’.  I can hear it in your voice, you know.  The city’s getting under your skin, Cor.  Come see me.”

“Maybe soon.”

"Come to me," She commanded, "Or I will go to you."

"Promises, promises."

"You did not enjoy it last time."

Cor snorted, "Neither did you."

"Cor."

"Soon.  I'll come soon."

His was not the gift of prophecy, but he was nonetheless correct in his prediction.


	4. Present Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Guys, I'm so sorry for those of you who have been waiting for this update. I'm an idiot. What in the world made me think I could summarize an entire thirteen chapters of a game in one chapter??? It's super long...)

It was late in the afternoon when Cor Leonis walked the bridge out of Insomnia.  The evacuees had been sent hours earlier with the majority of the surviving Crownsguard and other security forces, but the Marshal had stayed behind.  He’d looked for stragglers, for wounded. For answers to questions.

He’d found only Imperials and the dead.  In the Citadel. In the city districts they’d evacuated.  He’d found Drautos-- General Glauca. Clarus. Regis. Almost the entirety of the Council.

Innocents.  Children. He tried to turn his thoughts away from what he might find in the rubble.  The _pieces_ , torn asunder by collapsing cement and shattering glass.  He could not escape the conviction that he’d done something wrong-- or at least not _correct enough_ .  These people were the Insomnian citizens Regis had commanded him to protect-- had uprooted the entire Crownsguard to _protect_ \-- and he’d failed to do it.  He’d failed to convince them to go to the staging areas, failed to get them out of their homes and places of business in time, failed to get them out of the streets and out of the way of the war that’d burst in upon them.

He'd failed to protect his king, _again._  Nevermind how he'd been sent away, commanded to safeguard a different objective.  He'd failed to see the warnings and had left his friends--the entire kingdom--in the hands of a _traitor._

He would have stayed.  He would have stayed there among the dead, searching for survivors, but Monica had called with a warning that the Nifs were moving to secure the city, blockade it, and that if he didn’t leave soon, he might not get out at all.

He would have stayed.  Parts of him _wanted_ to stay, here in the city, with the dead, with the people he should have been able to protect.  But Regis and Clarus had made their wishes known days ago, had made his priorities _for him_ , and so he left the dead and the city, to the Imperials.

He did not-- _could not_ \-- think about retaliation now.  There were hundreds of evacuees to be looked after, but he could not think about that either.  The only thing Cor could do was think about the next step. The next step. The next step.

The woman joined him, falling into stride as best she could with her shorter legs, beside him.  He knew who she was, knew _what she was_ to him, but it did not sink into his thinking or his manner.  He was preoccupied with focusing on the next step, and the next step, because if he didn’t, he could not be sure he wouldn’t go running back into the city with a naked blade in his hand.  Still, he spoke to her, about the next step. He asked about incoming Imperial forces to support the blockade, to maybe round up the evacuees or remaining Insomnian forces. He asked about the evacuees and those forces-- where they were, what their condition was.  He asked about supplies on hand. She answered everything, her tone as cool and controlled as his, but she kept shooting him glances that he couldn’t decipher because he was thinking about the next step. Just the next step.

She asked, so he told her what he found.  He told her about Drautos--General Glauca.  He told her about the Kingsglaive he’d found-- the evidence of them fighting _each other_.  He told her about Clarus.  Regis.

“Regis is dead?”

“Yes, and the ring was gone.  The Crystal. The Council. Were there any Councilmen with the evacuees?”

“Not that I’ve seen.  The Princess though-- the Oracle.”

“That’s something.  I’ll have to--”

She stepped in front of him, met his gaze, “Cor.  Regis and Clarus are _dead_.”

It confused him at first, why she’d bring it up-- he’d just told her-- but the longer her eyes held onto his, the more he realized what she was doing.

Leave it to Ariel to go _straight for the throat_.

Suddenly he could not think about the next step.  He could not think about anything at all. It swallowed him, the finality of her statement, the utter tragedy of it.  He thought he nodded, resigned; tired. Numb. He didn’t remember crossing the rest of the bridge. Or getting in the truck.  Or the drive. Everything was a hazy, black mire of rage and horror and something too close to despair for comfort, held back only by the thinning discipline of his face.  She did not speak to him, and it was good, because he was convinced if he tried to speak, only screaming would come out.

The next time Cor was fully aware of where he was, was after climbing out of the shower of the cramped caravan, wearing loose pants and a t-shirt that did not belong to him but fit well enough for the moment, and finding the woman’s familiar shape propped on the seating space built into the cabinetry.  She was texting someone, but her eyes met his and she beckoned.

He went to her, still numb, still trapped in the hazy black mire contained behind the stone of his expression, and laid down, burying his face in her belly and wrapping his arms around her middle.

He wanted to hide in her bones.  Maybe if he stayed there long enough, the world would turn back over and all of this would be undone, like it had never been in the first place.  Her hands came down, running her fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck, to his shoulders. With a firm, ungentle touch, she kneaded the tension from him, and he did not protest under her unforgiving hands.  Though, after the first few knots were chased free, something in his chest opened up and began clambering gracelessly up his esophagus like a living thing, and he writhed around it, dreading it was a scream or a sob. Dreading he would vomit.  She held him still in her lap, remorselessly untangling the tendons and muscles where they jumbled. His fingers dug into her body, where she was thinnest, pressing his face more firmly into her belly while the thing pried itself out of his mouth and clenched teeth.  It was a gasp, wet and harsh and loud; the first breath of a drowning man resurfacing. There was a second one. Then he was coughing-- coughing up the rubble and the burning buildings. The dead and the mingled pieces of them he hadn’t had the courage to find in the destruction.  Clarus. Regis.

 _Insomnia_.

Finally he breathed, hard and slow; ragged.  He sagged against her, surrendered to her harsh ministrations, and closed his eyes.  Sleep came faster than he anticipated, deep and blessedly dreamless.

\----------------------------

 

He opened his eyes when she said his name, tugging gently on his earlobe.

“How long was I asleep?” He mumbled, reluctant to pull away from her warmth, her smell, and reenter the world as it was.  But it was his duty, and so he did, sitting up and wiping his face with a hand.

“Longer than you’d like.  Not as long as you need.” Her hand on the side of his face was a caress, but only for a moment.  Then she turned him to look at the counter and his folded clothes there, the worst of the grime and blood brushed and rinsed free, “Get dressed.  They’ll eat soon, and it’d be good for them to see you. For you to join them.”

“Is there enough?”

“Noone will go hungry tonight, but a long-term solution will require careful planning.  We can decide nothing about that until your people figure out what they want to do.”

Cor was pulling his own t-shirts on, “What do you mean?”

“Some of the civilians want to go to Lestallum and stay with friends or relatives… or just start over.  Some refuse to go any further than this. They want to return to their homes as soon as possible. Your Crownsguard so far insist on keeping everyone together, under central leadership.”

“No.  That won’t work long-term.” Cor shook his head, not letting the thought linger-- ‘central leadership’, meaning _his leadership_ , “Has word been sent to Lestallum?”

“Yes.  We’ve not received an answer yet, but Adam was sure he could get a couple busses and big trucks from there.”

Finishing with his boots Cor nodded and followed her to the door before extending his arm and blocking her way.

“Thank you,” He said quietly, when she met his gaze.  She smiled and shrugged a little, but he pulled her into a kiss, warm and grateful and _inadequate_ in the face of everything he felt, but there was no time for him to find anything more suitable.  Because he felt… not _better_ , it would be a long time before anything was remotely _better_ going on inside his head, but he felt… steadier.  Everything had shifted on his shoulders, and he could carry it properly.  He could carry it now, clear-minded and steady-handed. That had not been true before she’d cut him down on the bridge.

Her thumb and forefinger toyed with his beard at his chin, and she started to say something, stopped, and then said something else, “... I couldn’t let them see you that way.  They were near-panicked already.”

“That bad, huh?”

“‘Herds sicken and the water dries up when he passes.’” She replied wryly, “You were the broken, bloody teeth of your kingdom, and you were hungry for the flesh of your enemies...though I found you gnawing at your own.”

“You did.”

She raised her other hand, cupping his face, “Do not.  You don’t have the luxury of it anymore, and I will not stand by and watch.”

He nodded and gently pulled her hands from his face.  They turned for the door, and the Marshal managed to take a look out the window.

“This is Hammerhead...” He observed aloud.

“Naturally.”

“Ariel, this is no less than three days from Insomnia...”

She didn’t reply and he looked at her again, realizing he’d lost _three whole days_ to the nightmare.  He didn’t remember if they’d stopped, if they’d eaten, if they’d slept before the caravan.  He didn’t know if they’d run into trouble-- Imperials or otherwise. He just didn’t know. She’d taken care of everything while he’d… Done nothing?  His hand found her shoulder, but his question died on his lips. Turning back, her expression softened, and she adjusted the collar of his jacket. “We were fine.”

He snorted, managing to clear his throat, “I never doubted.”

“Then why are you upset?”

He scowled, almost protested the suggestion that he was upset, then sighed, “... I don’t remember.  Three days… Was I any use at all, or just self-loading luggage?”

“You followed directions,” Her hands left his collar to smooth against his chest before moving up over his shoulders, “You helped me clear a haven on the second night so I could get a little sleep.  You ate a little that night and let me lay in your lap. That was all I needed you to do until we got here.”

With his hands at her waist, his head bowed, pressing his forehead against hers, “... That’s all, huh.”

“No.  Now I need much more from you, Marshal.  Now I need you to organize your flailing Crownsguard and lead your citizens.  We’ll help you, but your people don’t look to _us_.”

Cor closed his eyes, wanting to kiss her again, and again, over every inch of skin he’d bare undressing her, and then make love to her until he no longer felt the weight of this expectation.  But he’d already taken so much time to himself-- nearly _four days_ \-- and there were the needs of hundreds to think of.

“Got my work cut out for me.”  With great reluctance he stepped away, opening his eyes.

 

He followed her to the slowly erecting city of tents-- tents and lights and blankets and generators and _more_ that they’d ensured would be ready the moment an evacuation was called-- and the smell of hot food, undoubtedly with help from Takka.  People watched them, hundreds of pairs of eyes resting heavy on them, and the Marshal made himself meet their sad, frightened gazes. Monica left the business of one of the larger tents, organizing the logistics of feeding and sheltering everyone for the night under the bright overhead lights that would ward away daemons, and met them.

“Marshal, I’m glad you made it safely.” She greeted.

“Monica.” Was his only reply.  They’d worked together long enough for her to know his quiet appreciation for her staunch willingness and capability to handle the whole of everything-- ready to catch all the falling, scattering pieces behind him wherever he went.  She knew he’d be nearly hopeless without her, most days, and he knew she knew. Nothing more needed said.

“... I admit I was a little worried,” She continued quietly, “until the Huntress told me she had you in her care.”

He gave a quiet bark of wry laughter, unsurprised that the two most prominent women in his life found _each other_ more dependable than perhaps he himself.  It was better than the alternative. Years ago, after too much teasing and too many insinuations concerning the closeness and extended hours spent between David and Ariel had gotten his hackles up, Cor had decided to fight fire with fire and had let drop some insinuations of his own.  To his horror, Ariel had behaved in the way he _should have_ anticipated, and marched directly to the Citadel and the Crownsguard offices to make clear her position and deal with the ‘threat’.  He’d found her at Monica’s desk, the two of them talking cheerfully, and the looks he’d gotten from both of them informed him that the game was up.  It’d taken six months for him to make it up to his second-in-command. Ariel was satisfied with having gotten under his skin, though he _had_ determined, by then, that nothing untoward was going on between her and the other master Hunter.

Monica debriefed him on everything he’d missed, and he summarized all he’d discovered within the ruined city.  She confirmed what he’d heard from Ariel-- that the thinking of the Crownsguard was to keep everyone centralized for better resource and man-hour management.

“We can’t make people stay where they don’t feel safe,” The Marshal sighed, and she nodded. “If Lestallum will take those who want to go, then we’ll escort them there.”

“If we can secure transport.”

“Adam will call back in a day or so,” Ariel spoke up, passing over small bowls of steamed rice and something stew-like with dark meat.

Monica shrugged helplessly, looking at Cor, “The Hunters have been a tremendous blessing.  They were waiting the moment we crossed the bridge with first aid and water and trucks. We wouldn’t have made it this far-- certainly not so efficiently-- without them.”

“Give yourselves more credit,” But Ariel was grinning, a smug flash of teeth, “we didn’t have all these tents and generators.  My people were wondering where to _put_ everyone if the worst should happen.  We were thinking about digging burrows.”

They left Monica to the logistics she had well-in-hand and Ariel led him to the not small huddle of people around the blonde woman in the tattered white dress.

“Lady Lunafreya,” The Hunter called, “have you eaten?”

The slightly confused look on the young woman’s face was telling, so Ariel passed her own bowl over-- giving Cor a stern look when he tried to then offer his bowl to _herself_.

“Your grace and generosity are much needed,” She was saying, “but you must still take care of yourselves.  Both of you.”

“And you?” The Marshal arched an eyebrow.

“Nevermind about me,” Her attention returned to Lunafreya.

“May I help you?” The blonde was saying.

“Cor Leonis,” He introduced, “Marshal of the Crownsguard.  I was one of…” but he couldn’t finish, suddenly choking on something that might have tried to be a renegade emotion.

Ariel blithely continued for him, “He served King Regis very closely, was one of his retainers and closest friends.”

“Prince Noctis has written to me about you,” The Oracle said kindly, “I am honored to meet you.”

But Cor’s heart had dropped somewhere around his knees as it occurred to him that he would have to call and notify Noctis about what had happened.  He would have to direct the next King in how best to take back their city.

“Excuse me,” he was saying numbly, “I need to make a phone call.”

“ _After_ you finish eating.” The Hunter had grabbed his arm at the elbow, thumb digging in mercilessly on the inside of the joint.  She inclined her head toward the evacuees, “They are watching, Marshal. Lady Oracle. Always. If you are anxious and busy, they will never stop fretting.  Eat.”

They ate.  Ariel answered a few texts, shaking her head at both of their inquiring looks.  Cor ate quickly and stepped away, commanding stillness in his hand as he clicked the Prince--King now.   _King’s_ \-- contact in his phone.  It rang several times, and his attention turned back to the women behind him.  Ariel had been giving Lunafreya a long look, and the Oracle asked what it was about.

“Nothing.  Just… You are very beautiful.” The Hunter said with a rueful shrug, “As beautiful as the rumors say.”

“Thank you.  You are very beautiful as well… and somewhat familiar.  I can’t help but think I’ve seen your face somewhere before this tragedy.”

Ariel grinned irrepressibly, so the Oracle continued, “Who is the Marshal calling?”

“Prince Noctis, I imagine.”

“Really?  I must meet with him!-- If it can be arranged safely… of course...”

The line opened over the phone, focusing all of Cor’s attention, “H-hello?  Cor?”

“So you made it.”

“What?  No, we just pulled in to Galdin--”

“--Something…” Cor swallowed, determined to keep his voice even, “Everything has changed, your Majesty.”

“What do you-- _what_ did you call me?”

“You heard me.  Your father… the king… He’s dead.  The Imperials took the city. Like I said: everything has changed.”

“Are you _serious_ , right now?!  This is crazy--”

“--Listen.  I’m in Hammerhead.  If you want the whole story, you know where to find me.  Get moving.”

His attention returned to the women as he hung up. Tossing him a set of keys, Ariel flashed a smile, “You can return Cid’s truck while you’re waiting.  Thank him for me?”

“Sure.  You don’t want to join me?”

He watched as she sobered, “There are other things for me to do, right now.  He wants to hear from _you,_ not me now, I think.” She met his eyes, bold and _certain._ “You don’t need me for this.”

He wished for her conviction.  He was still wondering if it were an option to return to the caravan and the sanctuary of her lap and unforgiving hands and just _stay there_ for the next twenty years.  But it was only a brief consideration.  He was the broken teeth of his kingdom, and his king would need him.  He nodded, then turned and left.

\----------------------------

 

Cindy met him at the door of the garage, “Uncle Leonis?  Oh thank goodness, you know Paw Paw and I ain’t been able to rest a _minute_ since hearing about the crown city…”

Cor handed her the keys and she took them, then his hand in both of hers, “... And then Ariel borrowed the truck, an’ she’s alright, right?  She said she was goin’ t’get you, and Paw Paw said she shouldn’t, but he gave her th’keys and we just ain’t been right--”

“She’s fine.  Unconquerable, remember?” He squeezed the woman’s hands in his, “I’m fine too.” He insisted when she opened her mouth again, furrowing her brow.

Over the last twenty years, Ariel had used Hammerhead as her centralized, but unofficial base of operations, and had therefore grown quite close to the people working there-- particularly the mechanics and Takka.  Growing up under Cid, Cindy had adopted Cor as her grandfather’s _other-son-or-much-younger-brother,_ justifying his address of ‘Uncle Leonis’ to herself.  Likewise, she’d determined that he and Ariel were very officially and legally married.  Cor had asked her once, teasing, why she didn’t call the huntress “Aunty Leonis” then, and a young Cindy had huffed and retorted “She ain’t took yer name, Uncle Leonis, you can’t fool me!”  So Ariel remained ‘Ariel’, rarely ‘Aunty Ariel’.

“Right,” She took a breath, “‘Course y’are.  Well, y’better go in and see Paw Paw.”

Cor gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before heading inside where Cid waited.

“If yer here,” The older man grumbled, peering up from under the brim of his cap, “then it’s worse than I was thinkin’...”

“It’s bad,” The Marshal admitted, going over, purposefully letting his eyes only scan lightly over the framed photo.

“Reggie ok?  Clarus?”

Cor shook his head.

“Damn.”

“... Yeah.”

Cid scratched the back of his head, “... When yer huntress queen came earlier for the truck, I told her not t’go.  I reckoned… I reckoned you’d be fine.”

“I am fine.”

“That’s good.” the old man nodded, “That’s… that’s real good.”

“... I almost stayed.”

“She’d’ve dragged ye out by yer collar.”

“Maybe.” Cor sighed, “Imperials been by yet?”

“No.  Y’reckon they’ll come?”

“They might.”

“That’s fine.” The mechanic shrugged, “You wouldn’t be here if there weren’t somethin’ you were doin’.  So what is it? What’s the plan?”

“For now, I’m meeting Prince Noctis and the others.”

“Hrm, I just _sent_ those boys down to Galdin.”

“I know.” Shrugging, the Marshal pinched between his eyes, “Need to direct the next king to gather his arms.”

“Oh.  I suppose that’s ‘bout right.” Cid nodded, “Y’goin’ with him?”

“We’ll see.  Hopefully I don’t have to.  There’re hundreds of people, with nowhere to go, looking at me to keep them safe now.”

“Gatherin’ ‘round my garage for now.  Suppose we’ll get used to it. Yer huntress queen keeps the place busier every year...”

“Right.  She says thanks, by the way.  For the truck.”

Cid grunted, his attention on the photo.  Watching him, the Marshal willed him to ask the questions he knew he had.

“Quit gawkin’ at me, kid.  I ain’t gonna ask. You’re alive, _that’s_ what’s important.”

With a sigh, Cor turned his attention to the rest of the garage and the immaculate organization of the racks and racks of tools and resigned himself to wait.

“... Though, I suppose y’ _could_ tell me the bits leadin’ up.  The things the news _ain’t_ told us…”

“Sure.” And so he did.

\----------------------------

 

It was some time later, deep in the quiet hours of the dark, while twisted things made creaking and shrieking noises in the distance, as if daring them to come beyond the safety of the light, when Cor found the former Princesses in conference again.  From his perspective, it seemed Lady Lunafreya was trying to convince Ariel of something-- and Cor sympathized with her efforts, having filled those shoes often enough to know how uncomfortable and downright _punishing_ they could be.

“I cannot stay here,” She was saying, “I will draw the Empire in my wake… and I have my tasks to see to.  The time has come. I must entreat the Astrals to acknowledge the King.”

“I’ll go with you.” Ariel said and Cor’s heart stuttered into the pit of his stomach.

“I… I am honored by your offer,” Lunafreya said, “but I must travel quickly and in secrecy--”

“--Listen, Princess, _noone_ can move through this land faster than I can.   _Everything_ here will either want to kill or _keep_ you, and I can protect you.  I wasn’t offering. It isn’t up for debate.  You’re moving through my territory, I’m going with you.”

“You’re better off listening to her.” Cor interjected, against every desire in his heart.

The Oracle blinked at him, then looked at the woman, “Very well.”

“Very wise of you.” Said the Huntress with a wry grin, “Now, go and get some rest.  You’ve been ministering to these people all day. We will start our preparations in the morning.”

After seeing the blonde young woman to the tent she shared with the huntress, Cor and Ariel wound their way through the tents, speaking in low voices.

“... I see you’ve decided to abandon me to my rat-trap camp.” Observed the Marshal, sardonic and only barely avoiding a dry smirk.

“This is the way we’ve always done it,” Was her quiet reply, “You--...”

Watching her face, he saw the precise moment when she changed her mind and silenced herself.  It was _significant_ , he thought.  Ariel had never practiced much of the _tact_ she’d no-doubt been schooled rigorously as a princess. “... I what?”

She shook her head, avoiding his scrutiny, “... I will not say it.  You told me once before that your loyalties were not for my inspection.  There is too much for us to do for me to waste time with this.”

It bothered him, her sudden hesitation to speak freely, but he knew better than to argue the point with her-- she would likely withhold her words just to _spite him_ then. “... When are you going?”

“The Oracle wants to leave immediately.  It will take the morning to pack the necessary provisions.  We could leave in the afternoon.”

“So soon.”

She shrugged, “This is the way we’ve always done it, you and I.”

Stopping, Cor took hold of her wrists, touch gentle but insistent, “... Do you have time, now?”

When she looked at him, he was certain she saw his intentions, as well as his mildly bubbling frustration at her sudden evasiveness, but she gave no indication, “A little.  Both of us need sleep, Marshal. What do you want?”

“To be alone with you, for a little while.”

Her mouth twisted into a smirk as both brows raised, “‘A little while’ doesn’t sound like it’s worth the effort…”

“You’re the one who said we needed sleep…” He pointed out dryly.

“You’ve yet to convince me  I shouldn’t just go do _that_.”

“I can convince you in the caravan, if it’s still available.”

The huntress shook her head, “It’s not.  A few of the worse off injured are in there.”

Cor considered briefly all the other secluded places around Hammerhead, then suggested, “Storeroom?”

Withdrawing a hand from his grip, she muffled her bark of laughter, “How desperate of you!”

“We’ve made do with worse.”

“When we were young and foolish.  I don’t mind, but I was certain _you would_ , what with your image to protect-- especially in front of your subordinates.”

“My subordinates are either working or sleeping.  If I find them in the storeroom, they will wish I _hadn’t_.”

Takka was on his way out when the two of them entered the diner, unable to decide which one was leading and which one was following.

“Storeroom unlocked, Takka?” Ariel asked him, slowing despite the Marshal’s hand at her lower back and how he crowded against her, eyes narrowed and heated.

“W-what?  O-oh yeah.  Just u-uh lock up when you’re done, okay?” The tipster furrowed his brow, seemed to catch on, then rolled his eyes, “And don’t make a mess.”

“Goodnight, Takka.”

\----------------------------

 

Ariel woke first, surrounded by the warmth of her lover’s body and his scent-- leather and amber, mixed frequently with blood and steel-- his arms loosely around her, pulling her against his chest.  After locking up the storeroom, they’d found a quiet corner on the edge of the lamplight, propped against the fencing, Cor putting his back to the fence and Ariel putting her back to him. Taking the few moments, the huntress let her eyes adjust to the gradually waning dark and simply listened to him _breathe_ against her, letting the assurance that he was _here_ and _whole_ keep the fury at bay.

His body had betrayed him the night before.  Cor Leonis was a _master_ at compartmentalization, and so once he’d had the moment needed to wrap his hands around all that had happened in the Crown City, he could package and shelve it for examination when time afforded the luxury of it.  But it had left _wounds in him nonetheless_ , and they would be tender for a long time, and that lingering hurt had made him impatient and self-conscious.  Combined with his exhaustion--utter and complete exhaustion in every facet of who he was-- it had taken him a long time to be ready to join with her as he’d wanted to.  This had only exacerbated his turmoil, salting the wounds in his sense of identity and _place_ in the world.

For the mortal wound to her man’s pride, and mind, and spirit, there would be blood.  The deserts of Niflheim had taught her a severe and practical kind of justice, one that she never could shake despite living in arguably more _civilized_ lands.

He didn’t want her to go.  She knew he wouldn’t approve the moment she’d offered, but she couldn’t _stay_ here with these rat trap people, and she couldn’t _stay_ and watch what they would do to him with their dependence.  She didn’t want him to stay _either_ , but knew better than to ask him to go with her.  He had his duty to them.

To _Regis_.

… It was better to go.

Tilting her head back, she nuzzled her nose gently along his jawline, “Let me up.”

“... It isn’t even _dawn_ yet…” He mumbled, eyebrows crashing together as he squinted before burying his face in her crown and _tightening_ his grip on her, “... what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.  I have a camp to check and preparations to make.”

“Mm,” He acknowledged, low in his throat, “Should get more sleep before your trip.  You won’t sleep on the road with the Oracle.”

“ _You_ should get more sleep--”

“--Please.” He said quietly, in his simple way that was very much a request, but not a plaintive one.  Cor made his requests as one dignified individual to another, with no hint of manipulation to his tone.  It was one of the very best things about him. “A little longer.”

Sighing, she pressed a kiss below his chin where the short, coarse hair of his beard gave way to smooth skin, “A little longer, then.”

“Thank you.”

“Shh.”

With his face still pressed into her hair, she felt him slip back into a doze with a sigh.  Every minute or so, his hands or arms would flex, as if to confirm she was still there, but otherwise, he rested easily enough.  Ariel listened to his breathing, feeling the steadiness of his heartbeat through her back, and sat content but watchful as morning proper approached.

\----------------------------

 

“King Regis trusted you,” Lunafreya said quietly, worrying her hands together, but boldly looking the tall Marshal in the face, “and Prince Noctis has commended you with every mention.  These people, too, find you reliable.”

Cor cleared his throat uneasily, his ears beginning to redden, “... Your Grace honors me too much--”

“--I am not complimenting you, sir.” The Oracle retorted, “... I am asking if _I_ can trust you.  Circumstances being… what they are… I cannot meet with Prince Noctis.  But you will soon. I have something to give him… something given to me… Something very valuable and very dangerous.  Can I _trust you_ to give it to him and him _only_ in my stead?”

She opened her hands, both of them, like an offering, and there in her palm rested a black ring.

Ariel’s eyes left the ring and the Oracle when she heard Cor’s sharp inhale.

“I trust you know what this is.”

The man’s voice was harsh and low, but _toneless_ , “ _Yes_.”

“Then it should not surprise you when I say that many men-- good and brave and honorable men-- gave their lives to ensure that I would be here to deliver it to Noctis so he can meet his great destiny.”

The stone of the Marshal’s expression successfully turned aside Lunafreya’s inspection, but Ariel knew how to read him better after twenty years of familiarity.  This ring and what it meant struck him like a hammer blow, and the weight of the Oracle’s words-- at being trusted by Regis, and offered _her trust_ despite coming away from the crown city he viewed as evidence only of great _failure_ on his part-- threatened to crush him _entirely_.  She could see it in the way his lips barely parted and his nostrils flared only slightly.  The way the creases between his brows lay.

This ring, and this trust, _hurt him_ so much.

Ariel swallowed her fury, knowing she could not protect him from it.  He wouldn’t _permit it_ , in any case.  So she remained silent.

“... Can I trust you, Cor Leonis?  Will you deliver the ring to Noctis?” Lunafreya prompted when he didn’t say anything or move.

For a surreal moment, Ariel thought he would say _no_.  Instead, he reached a hand and rested it lightly over both of the Oracle’s, “... You can.  It will be done.”

Their hands parted.  Lunafreya’s were empty, Cor’s a tight, white-knuckling fist.  His eyes found the huntress’s own, but his gaze was flat and distant as he folded in on himself.

“Be well, Marshal.  The Hunters have their instructions to aid you in whatever you ask.” Were her words, because the things she wanted to say had no place now.

He nodded, once, then turned and walked away, wordless.

The blonde woman was watching his retreating back, her expression soft and concerned.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Ariel told her, “You’ve given that thing to the one person in all of Eos who knows its weight and worth better than anyone else.”

“... So it seems.”

Together, they turned for the rough-looking coupe that would take them to Lestallum.

\----------------------------

 

It was the second night on the road when the Oracle settled on the hard stone littered with glowing runes, next to the huntress, and Ariel knew she wanted to _talk_ .  To _ask_.  They’d discussed the trip, and Lunafreya’s goals, as well as her hopes, but Ariel had been too busy nursing her fury to divulge anything.

“Are you worried about the Marshal and the camp?” The younger woman offered gently.

Shaking her head, Ariel leaned back on a hand, regarding the pretty blonde looking at her, “Them, no.  They have the very best Lucis has to offer. Him? It has never served me well to worry about _him._ ”

“You seem very close…”

“We’ve known each other for twenty years.  There is noone I trust more.”

Lunafreya watched her expression carefully, then looked down at her folded hands, “Perhaps it isn’t my place to say but… I think he is very much in love with you, Ariel.”

The huntress gave a bark of laughter, “For thirty years now, it seems.  He is a great masochist…”

“... I think you love him just as much…”

“Yes.” Ariel shrugged lazily, watching the fire, unashamed to own it.

“Twenty years is a long time for a couple to be together… especially separated.  You are to be congratulated.”

Grinning, Ariel looked at the young woman, causing her to blush, “Just ask what you want to ask, Princess.”

Flustered, the blonde stammered, “... I just… Are you married?”

“No.  I’m legally dead.  The only official documents concerning my existence are these tags around my neck.  Insomnia is devilish tedious about legal proceedings and unions. We decided it was… not worth the effort.  Besides, I don’t need that rat trap city’s permission or blessing to commit myself to him.”

“That’s true, I suppose…” There was a pause, then, “... And you’ve no children?”

Ariel felt the grin shift in her face into something sharper, so she closed her lips and turned her gaze back to the fire, searching for the right words…

“I’m… I’m sorry.  It’s rude of me to--”

“--I can’t bear them.” Was the quiet confession, the words she’d never uttered to another living soul, “I’ve miscarried three times.”

The Oracle was silent for several long minutes, then reached over and touched her shoulder.  The huntress did not suffer to be touched uninvited-- taught harsh, painful lessons in the desert of Niflheim-- but there was something innocently affectionate and very sincere about the young woman, and so Ariel did not protest or smack her hand away, “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know…”

“Noone knows.”

“... You haven’t told…?”

“Cor?  Gods no.  The first… I was horrified by the entire thing… that I’d conceived in the first place… but then it was… then it died, and… I hadn’t told him it existed, why would I tell him it had perished?  The second, I… I had intended to tell him… that it was here in my body… I think… I think a part of his heart wants very much to be a father. But I… I didn’t want to tell him and then… lose it… like the first.  And I did, just like the first. When the third happened I…” The words came and came, and Ariel laughed harsh and high, shrugging helplessly, “... with the third, I had already come to accept my fate. Now I take the herbs _religiously_ so I do not conceive at all.”

“... I’m glad you told me,” The Oracle said softly after a swollen silence, “It must have been hard to carry this burden alone for so long.”

“Women’s work,” Ariel mused. “That’s what my mother used to call it.”

“...Yes.” Lunafreya agreed quietly, and the huntress could feel her eyes on her again, begging the question.

One confession was all she could stomach tonight.  There would be other nights…

\----------------------------

 

“So what, _exactly_ , are we going to do?” The huntress asked, adjusting the wrapping around one of her knife hilts, trying to focus on something other than the oppressive heat.

“I… I am going to call out to the Archaean, and entreat him to ally himself with the King of Light.” Lunafreya told her.

“Have you done something like this before?”

“No.”

Sighing, Ariel looked around at the unforgiving terrain, shelves of earth scattered like broken pottery in concentric rings from the epicenter where the burning meteor-- the Disc of Cauthess, they called it-- lay.

“...I do not ask you to--” The blonde woman began.

“--You’re not going to _prevent_ me, either, Princess.  I said I would go with you, and I will.  How close do you need to be?”

“I’m not… sure.”

Ariel gave her a bemused look, and Lunafreya blushed, “I… I intend to use my best judgement.  In Altissia, there is an altar for the Hydraen, but I have never heard of such a thing being constructed here in Lucis.  I do not think the people dare to draw near…”

Ariel knew, of course, that the Lucians did not view the Astrals the same way Altissians did.  The Tidemother was restless and angry even in her slumber, and perhaps only the Fulgarian shared that disposition occasionally.  Living in such close proximity to angry deities gave her and her people a healthy, cautious awe of the Astrals. Waking them was a task Ariel viewed with somewhat more trepidation than her younger companion.

“I see a structure… maybe a monument… over there.” She pointed. “That will be as good a place as any.  The terrain is somewhat more manageable in a hurry-- Which reminds me: what happens if the Archaean doesn’t heed you?”

“... What do you mean?  Are you suggesting he would not wake and acknowledge me?” Luna’s brows pulled together, “I don’t think that will happen.  I’m the Oracle… the power to awaken them was bequeathed me by my… my mother. Who was Oracle before me.”

Ariel shook her head, “Oh no, I’m sure they’ll awaken… But what if they don’t want to listen to your request after they do…?”

“... Then we are all in very grave danger.  If the Astrals do not acknowledge the King of Light, there is no hope for our star.”

“And _we_ are in very immediate danger?”

“I… Yes.  I imagine so.”

  


\----------------------------

 

<Ariel.>

“Hello Marshal.”

<How are you?>

“I’m fine.  We’re both fine.  We’re going to wake the Archaean tomorrow.  I imagine he won’t be pleased about it, so I might have to fight a god…”

<Please don’t fight a god.>

“Do you suppose I could _outrun_ one?”

<...I’m glad you are enjoying yourself enough to tell jokes.>

“What about you?  You sound… tired. Strained.”

<My rat-trap camp is hard on me.>

“Not hard enough if you can still taunt me with my own words.  What’s going on?”

<Tensions and tempers are high.  Lestallum provided vehicles but tells us they’re not sure they can open their doors-- the Empire is already looking their direction, they don’t want to earn any scrutiny for taking in refugees.  Stuck here waiting is bad enough, but some fools have been stirring up trouble with the previous refugees from the districts. Some people are making noise about the remaining Kingsglaive… People are scared and angry, and there are a lot of them.  It’s nothing we didn’t anticipate.>

“It sounds like it’s good I left.”

<If you say so.>

“... I didn’t imagine it being like this.  This wasn’t what I wanted.”  
<... What do you mean?>

“...”

<... Ariel?>

“... I thought it would be like before… If I could get you out of the city again, that it would be like before.  We’d be together… But it’s not…”

<We’re not together because you left, Ariel.  You insisted on going…>

“I did, and it’s still the right choice to make.  I just… I should have made you come with me.”

<You never asked.>

“You would have never agreed!”

<No.  I have-- >

“--You have your duty, yes, I know!  I’ve known for thirty years and have borne it for twenty, _Marshal.  That_ is why I did not ask.  Because you told me twenty years ago it was not my _place_ to ask-- to make you _choose_ your loyalties!”

<I’m sworn in service to my kings, Ariel.  This isn’t anything _new_. >

“No.  It’s not.  You’re right.  This isn’t why I called, anyway.”

<...>

“Did you meet with the newly crowned prince?”

<Yes.  You can tell Princess Lunafreya that I’ve delivered the Ring to him.>

“I’ll let her know. She’ll be grateful.”

<... All right.>

“... It must have been difficult.  To meet with him.”

<...>

“... Nevermind--”

<\--He was very emotional.  I had thought myself prepared for it.>

“I’m certain you conducted yourself admirably.”

<I’m sure I conducted myself like an unfeeling bastard.  Yes. It was difficult.>

“He knows and trusts you, Cor.  If he doesn’t believe you stand steadfast to support him at every turn, then he is a fool.”

<He’s young, and this is… hard… for everyone.  Hardest for him, perhaps.>

“We were all young and emotional, once, I suppose.”

<...>

“… I should let you go.”

<I have a little time if there’s something more.>

“... No.  I’m certain you will manage things well, far better than I would.  I just… I wanted to let you know… in case things go poorly tomorrow.”

<Call me after.  You’ll be fine, but… call me after.>

“I will.  Goodnight.”

<I… I love you.  Goodnight.>

\----------------------------

 

<Leonis.>

“... I did not fight a god.”  
<... Good.  I assume everything went well, then.>

“For the most part.  Luna is resting. It… _did_ something to her.”

<... The role of Oracle is a demanding one…>

“I know the stories just as well as you do, Marshal.  I said I’d keep her safe, and I will.”

<... That’s what I’m afraid of…>  
“What’s that?”

<... That you’ll try to protect her even from her fate.>

“... Men _make_ their fates, Cor.  That is how we were made.”

<... So you don’t believe the prophecy?>

“... We’ve talked about this for twenty years…”

<We’ve talked _around_ it for twenty years.  Tell me straight out. >

“... It doesn’t matter if I believe it.”

<I’m asking.>

“I know.  That’s my answer: it doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not.  It only matters if your Noctis does.”

<... He has to choose it…>

“Yes.  What about you?  Do _you_ believe it?”

<... I still don’t know.>

“... You don’t like it any more than I do.  You’d rather protect him from it. We’re the same.  The only difference is you were told you can’t and you _let them._  You _believed_ them.”

<... That’s rough, Ariel.>

“... I know.  That’s not what I meant.  You’re already carrying the weight of the kingdom, I don’t mean for you to try and shoulder the world as well.  Your Regis left that to your Noctis. Either he will be what Lucis hopes for him to be, or he won’t be, and we’ll make do without him.”

<That’s blunt, even for _us_ … I supposed I asked though.>

“You did.  It was… a trying day.  I’m sorry if my tongue is sharp.  Our conversation would be different if you were actually in front of me.”

<I know.>

“... Titan doesn’t have a dick.”

<... _What?_ >

“Titan doesn’t--”

<\--I _heard you_ , please do not repeat it.  Do not ever say it again…>

“I just thought you might be curious.”

<I can honestly say I have never been curious, and could not be _less_ curious… >

“You don’t think it’s strange?”

<Ariel.>

“You’re being awfully tiresome, Marshal…”

<...You wouldn’t talk about this if we were together either…>

“No.  I’m much less curious about how well-equipped other male entities are when in your company…”

<... Now I know you’re just teasing me…>

“Is it working?”

<... It is.>

“Good.  Maybe now I don’t have to get upset when you tell me your rat trap camp isn’t letting you get any sleep…”

<How did you know?>

“I can hear it in your voice.”

<Can you…?>

“I can.”

<Really…?>

“... If your goal is to rile me up with your _fireside voice_ , you might want to set your sights on something nobler.”

<You started it.  With _Astral cock._ >

“‘Cocklessness’.”

<Details.>

“Ha!  That’s a large detail that I assure you I did not overlook!”

<We’re not talking about this.>

“Very well.  I should tell you: I found Somnus’s monument.  His tomb.”

<Somnus’s tomb?>

“Your founder king.  His tomb is at the foot of the Disc.  It’s fairly easy to spot once you get near.”

<... That’s good information to have.  Noctis will need to retrieve his weapon for his Royal Arms.>

“Well then you can pass it on.”

<I will, if I can get a hold of him again.  Nifs are taking the networks and radio towers.>

“Someone should do something about it…”

<I’m thinking about it.  Would be nice to give the Kingsglaive something to do.>

“It’s a good job for them.”

<What about you?  Where are you headed next?>

“Not sure.  Probably shouldn’t say anyway, if the Empire is taking communication networks…”

<Good point.>

“... I’ll call you after again.  Whatever it is.”

<All right.>

“... Get some sleep.”

<You too.>

“It won’t be easy…”

<No.>

“Do you miss me?”

<Yes.>

“Good.”

\----------------------------

    A

\--Saturday 10:45--

Ramuh

 

\----------------------------

A

\--Tuesday 03:11--

it’s done

 

C

\--03:45--

said u’d call

 

A

\--03:47--

some ppl sleeping

 

A

\--03:47--

y arent u?

C

\--03:47--

                                            u txtd me

A

\--03:48--

a thousand apology

 

A

\--03:48--

sleep now

 

C

\--03:49--

                                    call me when she wakes

 

\----------------------------

<... She’s as bad as we are, I see.>

“No, she’s still asleep and will sleep for hours yet, but it occurred to me that once she wakes… we’ll have to move on quickly.  So now I’m just whispering.”

<Trouble?>

“In a way.  This… island is not hospitable.  Bald stone and… heavy air, smelling of ozone.”

<... You’re on…?  I see. There are stories about that place.>  
“... Yes, well… We’ll leave soon.”

<... Did something happen?>

“...”

<You can tell me if you want to.>

“... He looked at me.  At _me_.  He looked at me, and I knew why they called this place the other name.”

<... Are you all right?>

“... He… didn’t smite me off the face of the star, if that’s what you’re asking…”

<It wasn’t, but… it’s good to know some of us stand a _chance_ if such things come to pass…>

“... I don’t know what to think.  I think too much-- too _many_ thoughts about it.  I _feel_ too much.”

<Tell me.>

“... Not now.  There’s too much, and it makes little sense, and I’m… I don’t want to argue.”

<... I see.>

“I don’t think you do…”

<I thought you didn’t want to argue.>

“Maybe I do.  Just to hear your voice.”

<Ah.  So you miss me, now?>

“Cor… don’t tease me.  You must know.”  
<... I do know.  I know.>

“... I suppose you know what’s next?”

<... Shit.  Yes, I suppose I do…>

“You don’t have to be so concerned.  I… have made peace with it. I’ve had weeks to remind myself that the Altar and the Trident are both there, and the Oracle will need to make use of both.”

<Are you looking forward to it?  To going back after all this time?  Going home?>

“... It’s not my home.  Not really. Not anymore.  But it was once, and I loved it desperately, you know.  I loved it very much. Maybe I still do…”

<I’m sure it has changed.  Maybe not as much as _you_ have, though. >

“Perhaps.  We are surely still the same, though.  Enough to be recognized.”

<... That’s true.  You’ll have to be careful.>

“You know I will be.”

<Yes.>

“... I was thinking… I… Could I ask something of you?”

<Of course.>

“... Will you meet us there?”

<...>

“Not for the _duration_ , not for _long_ , I know you’ve your duties… but… I thought it would be… fitting.  You were there for my exodus. It seems only right that you are there for my… ignoble return.”

<...>

“... There should be some days before the summoning.  There’s much politicking to be done to even gain _access_ to the Altar, much more the Trident.  We could… spend some time.”

<...>

“... Just tell me ‘no’ and be done with it, Marshal.”

<... I don’t want to say ‘no’.  I’m thinking logistics. It takes me longer than Ms. Elshett.>

“You will?  You agree?”

<I’ll try.  This is important to you-- you wouldn’t ask if it weren’t.  If I can, I will.>

“...I…”

<What’s wrong?>

“Nothing.  I just… Nothing.”

<... I’ve been waiting twenty years for you to hint that you _need me_.  Even just a little. >

“...I… How should we plan?”

<If you’re going, you should visit Maagho, a restaurant on the _Mercato Sull’acqua_. >

“... That used to be very valuable real estate, Cor.  Your Weskham must be there.”

<It still is, and yes, that’s his restaurant.  You can trust him.>

“... Is that where you’ll meet us?”

<There, or the pier.  If I can meet you at all.>

“... Can you say it again?”

<... Say what?>

“Where Maagho is?”

<From what I understand, it’s in the middle of the _Mercato Sull’acqua._ >

“The what?”

< _Mercato Sull’acqua_ \-- I’m saying it right, aren’t I?>

“You are, I just like to hear you say it.”

<... That does it for you, hm?>

“It’s very sexy to hear you speak _Accor--_ despite your accent.  You should do it more often.”

<Unfortunately, that’s about the _extent_ of my knowledge… >

“Pity.”

  


\----------------------------

 

There was noone to receive them at the pier when they landed.  Noone brought the red flowers of welcome, though Ariel saw that they still grew along the walls and supports of the piers, draping over the dark water like a crimson veil above the high tide line and safe from the splash of salt water.  Noone came to greet them with a kiss. Daylight was waning and lamps everywhere were already lit, but people still walked the promenade-- though fewer than she remembered-- and so Ariel could not account for the lack of Altissian hospitality.

It seemed much had changed in thirty years.

More than the structures, and the number and types of boats in the marina, there was a change in the _air_ ; a pensive disquiet, as if for the first time the jewel of the sea recognized the peril that was slowly strangling the world.  Idle talk and headlines informed them, as they navigated the winding walkways, that danger lurked at night-- creatures in the shadows; monsters-- and it became clear that the idyllic archipelago had been touched by the taint of daemons.  The revelation choked Ariel like so much icy saltwater.

Cor was not waiting for them anywhere on the docks, so they proceeded into the city and onto a gondola to take them to the _Mercato Sull’acqua,_ and  Maagho, the acclaimed restaurant owned by the friend of the King, Shield, and Marshal of Lucis (not to forget Cid Sophiar) after his retirement from politics.  Cor was not waiting for them there, either.

“Are we at the right place?” The Oracle whispered as they loitered near the edges of the crowded restaurant.

“That’s undoubtedly Weskham Armaugh,” Ariel replied, tilting her head at the man with graying hair and the monocle behind the bar. “What do you want to do?  Shall we tarry a few minutes?”

Lunafreya glanced around the crowd, then nodded, “A little while.  We should not delay too long in presenting ourselves to the First Secretary…”

The huntress was somewhat more concerned about their _discovery_ , more than proper protocol.  Altissia was home to the Guilds, and therefore had always been a city of intrigues and information warfare.  It wouldn’t surprise her that in the slew of informants for any number of factions, there were agents collecting and selling information to the Niflheim Empire for profit or position.  Besides that, Armaugh was too astute a man for their presence to escape his notice _long_ , and she was certain he’d recognize her on sight as Cid had.

It was likely only a matter of time before _somebody_ recognized her, she supposed, if she and especially her death, had acquired as much fame as Cor had told her.

But the Marshal did not show, even after several minutes, and Mr. Armaugh was preoccupied with several other guests at the bar-- old regulars, it seemed.

Another guest on the fringe, however, gave the pair of them long looks, which Ariel recognized from her years in the harsh desert.  Fevered eyes that portended rough, groping hands at knifepoint in dark alleys, and worse-- should she not be wary. Fortunately, Ariel was impossibly wary.  More still, she was more than prepared to respond with knives of her own. Still…

“We should go.  Come.”

Another gondola took them to the _Tenuta Sestiere_ , where the royal estates and majority of the civic buildings were located.  Ariel was surprised to see how _unchanged_ it was, this most-familiar part of her childhood home.  The estate had been converted into a museum while the central building remained used for governing. Citizens as well as tourists were welcome to take guided tours to view the preserved rooms on display, which doubtlessly circumvented any important business for the current government.  The last tour of the day had already entered ten minutes ago, but one of the orderlies recognize Lunafreya as the Oracle and hurried away.

Five minutes later, a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair approached them.

“Good evening, I am First Secretary Camelia Claustra.  Ladies, will you please come with me?”

They followed her behind the red velvet ropes into a corridor leading toward the back stairs.  These rooms used to be administrative and clerk offices for the royals, and now they seemed to serve the same function for the republic.

"You are the Oracle," The older blonde woman observed after turning to face them, her voice low so as to not carry into the offices where papers shuffled and computer keyboards clicked, "Lady Lunafreya."

"I am."

"It seems the tales of your death in Insomnia were much exaggerated..."

Luna looked at the huntress, then nodded at the First Secretary, "Yes."

"Have you come seeking asylum from the Empire?" Camelia pressed, arms unconsciously folding across her breast. "It cannot be long before they seek you here..."

"I--"

"--This isn't the place to discuss this, I think," Ariel said firmly, tawny eyes drilling into the First Secretary, "Such business as this is usually conducted in the Grand Hall, is it not?"

"You are educated on this history of this place," The First Secretary said, "But not the present services.  Let us go to my private offices. Though... I don't think we've been introduced..." Her gaze was equally sharp, searching the huntress's face and figure, hesitating long at the knife hilts bristling from her belt, boots and several other make-shift sheathes.

"I am Lady Lunafreya's escort during her pilgrimage.  More than that is not useful now, First Secretary." Ariel grinned widely.  She was glad the Oracle did not offer more information, seeming to take her cue.

Camelia turned again, leading the two women halfway down the corridor before turning toward the left, through the heavy door into the Great Hall, which had once served as the throne room of the royal estates, but now served as the heart of the museum tour, and according to the First Secretary, occasionally hosted large Guild events.  The spacious room was set up as it had been in its prime, with the thrones-- for the King and Queen of Accordo-- upon the central dais, the long azure and gold carpet rolled out from the double doored entrance, and the stanchions sculpted in brass relief of porpoises and whales, linking together the heavy chains on either side of the carpet, to separate petitioners from members of the Guild while court was open.  The sectioned off areas had once been the place of Guild representatives and scribes to transcribe court business. Now they housed regalia and keepsakes of the Trammel royal line: suits of armor, first-drafts of charters and regiments under glass, progressive displays of royal and courtly fashion. There the card table where one king of old used to entertain guests with parlor tricks, upon it, his trick deck. Most prominently, however, around all four walls were portraits of the entire family line.  Ariel's father's portrait sat upon his throne, with her mother's beside him on her own. Ariel's own portrait was on an elegant stand on the other side of her father, dressed in azure and gold shimmering silk. Bouquets sat piled neatly around all three, though, arguably, it could be said that there were quite a few more around the late Princess's portrait.

It had been thirty years since Ariel had seen the faces of her parents.  Thirty years since she'd seen her own in paint and jewelry, long, rich dark hair done in a beautiful plaited knot accented with pearls.  Ariel looked at the face of the murdered Princess of Accordo for many long moments, listening to the talk between the two blonde women.

"Under more usual circumstances, your Grace, we would be more than happy to welcome you officially to the city." The First Secretary was saying as she continued toward the far door.

"I understand, but circumstances are far more dire than they ever have been, Lady Secretary.  You must know I am not here simply for succor. I have a duty..."

She sounded strong, and idealistic, Ariel thought.  Like the young woman trapped in canvas and oils--trapped in a past, with only ignoble death awaiting her.  The death of the Princess of Accordo had become the beginning of the huntress she was now-- 'the huntress queen', as the old mechanic in Hammerhead liked to tease.  She'd become something carved out of iron, forged in the cruel deserts. Would the death of the Princess of Tenebrae yield such results?

Would it be worth it?

Ariel turned and faced the other two women as Camelia responded, "You must excuse me, Oracle, but your duty would call down ruin upon my capital, firstly from the Empire, and secondly by the Tidemother.  You cannot ask this of me, of Altissia."

"Lady Secre--"

"Can not _I?"_ Ariel called in a tone and inflection she'd all but forgotten.  Camelia turned then, and beheld her there in front of the portrait, Lunafreya turning with her.  She could only imagine just what they saw: a middle-aged woman with her hands posed as if she were sitting primly upon a chair, one folded lightly on where her lap ought be, and the other with fingertips pressed delicately at her breast, mimicking the Princess’s portrait behind her.  Ariel remembered the pose well, for she had been forced to sit there on her fifteenth birthday for five hours instead of enjoying the sunshine and celebration held in her honor. Fortunately, it did not take that long for the First Secretary to guess her intention, and recognize her face.

"Blessings of the Six," Lunafreya whispered, a graceful hand moving to her lips in a gasp, "I knew it!  I knew I'd seen your face before!"

Camelia's response was far more dramatic even, clutching her breast with one hand and her belly with the other, "This cannot be... You cannot be... Princess Ariel?"

"I am," the huntress said, hoping her inward thrash to grasp long forgotten cadence, and diction in her speaking, as well as the tell-tale body language cues of good Altissian breeding was not apparent.  It was difficult to remember a life long since forgotten, decades ago. "Thirty years ago I was called Princess Ariel Maxine Lucja Trammel. Then I was slain, obeying the wishes of my king and queen to secure a stronger alliance with the Niflheim Empire, on my wedding night.  We were betrayed. Our people were _betrayed_ \-- slaughtered in the streets for voicing their affront in my honor.  Now the Empire commands Accordo to lie quiet, docile like a beaten hound on a chain.  So it does. We, the Oracle and I, have come to ask _more_.  It was not Niflheim that braved the sea and embraced the wrath of the Hydraen to make one our mistress and the other our matron.  It was not Niflheim that forged these small islands into the crown jewel of the Blue. It was us."

"You cannot suggest we fight, your Highness..." The First Secretary said breathless.

"I do.  But not on their terms, with soldiers and ships.  We fight the way we've always fought: with cunning and the promise of our bountiful support.  Why benefit those who have used us ill, First Secretary? Should we not throw our substantial weight behind the Oracle?"

When Camelia did not immediately protest, but instead turned her gaze to the other blonde woman, Ariel knew it was enough and her gambit had not been in vain.

 

\----------------------------

 

Ariel had left Lunafreya to her letters at the writing desk in the guest suite they shared. Her own old suite from her childhood was preserved as part of the museum.  Camelia had offered to show them it. The Oracle had been interested, but had recanted when Ariel balked. The guest suite served them well enough-- the sumptuous chambers were a welcome change for the Oracle, who had never been terribly comfortable with the numerous campgrounds, and kept them out of sight of the great majority of the staff and museum guests.  Here, Luna prepared the speech she would give the city and the entire world, about her plan to awaken the Leviathan. Guild leaders came calling at all hours, however, and the huntress made it her duty to deflect them away from the Oracle. They were more than happy to accept her once she revealed herself to them.

It was risky, of course, to reveal herself, but the alternative was to expose the vulnerable Lunafreya to the Market of Tides-- the ancient and deadly game of intrigues, alliances, and treachery the Guilds engaged in with each other in the name of competition, ambition, and most importantly pride.  The 'MoT' was older than the city itself, dating back to the days cast adrift in their ships at sea, struggling to manage dwindling resources amongst themselves. Some said it was older yet, hearkening back to the long lost glory of Solheim. Lunafreya was completely unprepared to navigate it, whereas Ariel had been born to _master_ it-- that was how the Trammel line had _become_ the royal family after all.

She'd grown restless in the room, however, and the gossiping she could just barely hear down the hall had piqued her curiosity, so she'd gone to investigate.  After discovering two staff members talking about the arrival of dignitaries from the Empire, the huntress made her way back toward the room to find the door left ajar.

Inside, standing over Lunafreya but not yet discovered by her, loomed a tall figure clad in a long white coat with silvery-blond hair and a metal prosthetic arm in place of his left.  Cat-like, she padded across the carpeted floor behind him.

"I had wondered where you'd gone after Insomnia fell..." The man said quietly.

Lunafreya turned with a gasp, stunned, staring up at him, but then she looked aside, her expression transitioning into something steadfast and determined, "Have you come as the High Commander of Niflheim or--"

The man made a strangled sound as he was yanked backwards by his hair, a curved blade biting into the flesh of his throat.

"What are you doing in my room?" Ariel hissed in his ear.

"Who--"

"--Softly, Imperial dog.  If you startle me, I might accidentally carve your head right off your noble shoulders.  I keep my knives very sharp, you know. A woman must fend for herself and her friends, these days.  What business do you have, hm? By whose word are you presented thus?"

The man struggled to snarl a reply, but Luna said urgently, "Ariel, please!  He's... this is my brother, Ravus Nox Fleuret. While true he serves the Empire... I must insist you do not harm him.  Please."

The huntress considered the younger woman a moment, then murmured softly to the man in her grasp, "... You're very fortunate to have such an affectionate sister, Lord Ravus, High Commander of Niflheim.  You ought to show her more loyalty."

Once released, Ravus straightened and smoothed his coat and collar, "You know nothing of my loyalties."

"Perhaps not, but then why is it me by her side protecting her from you?" The huntress replied archly.

The High Commander had no real response to that.  Somewhat chastened, he glanced between the two women, then said to Ariel, "... Thank you for keeping her safe.  I have heard reports of how the Archaen and Fulgarian were awakened, but no reports of my sister herself. It speaks well of your ... skill and resources... whoever you are."

"Ravus, this is Ariel.  She was once princess of Accordo.  Now she leads the hunters in Lucis."

"More accurately the hunters in Leide," Ariel observed.

Luna shook her head, "Every hunter in the continent knows you by name and heeds your consul."

“It seems the report of your death was… much exaggerated,” Ravus observed, giving the huntress a long look.

Ariel grinned, “Yes, a common ploy of the Empire’s, and one I’m happy to take advantage of.”

“So it seems,” The High Commander mused, “Though, that hardly seems to be the _only_ misinformation floating around.  Lunafreya, I confess I’d not expected to see you so well.  Weren’t we always taught that the demands of calling upon the Astrals would diminish your vitality?”

“It is… difficult, to do.  But again, I have Ariel to thank: she has a tremendous gift for healing.”

“ _Healing_ , is it?” The sharp mismatched eyes turned to the hunter.

She grinned back at him, sharp and unintimidated, “One must learn a number of skills to survive the harsh wilds.”

Both of them knew it wasn’t a complete answer.

“... I see.” Ravus relented, “It would be… _instructive_ … to hear more of this, but I’m afraid I haven’t the time.  Any moment now I will be missed, and for all his other personal faults, the Chancellor does ask very pointed questions.  I only wanted to… know that you were well, sister.”

“I am… Thank you.  I’m… I’m happy to see you.” The Oracle took his right hand in both of hers, and he squeezed hers in return.

Then the High Commander turned to leave, but seemed to remember something, and said over his shoulder to Ariel, “... You should know that your… widowed lord husband… will be arriving soon with his legion.”

Something very vicious and sharp unearthed itself at the news, and Ariel’s smile grew all the more brilliant, “Oh!  We parted under such unsavory circumstances. I’m most eager to _make amends_.”

“I thought you might be.”

\----------------------------

“It was a nice speech.”

“Thank you, Ariel.”

“The Empire will be scrambling now-- to get their hands on you _and_ your Noctis.”   
The huntress smiled when she saw the surge of color bloom in the younger woman’s face, “Did you see him there as well?”

“How could I not?  Every man and woman stared at you, but not like he.”

“Don’t tease me, please…” The Oracle glanced at her, bringing up a hand momentarily to cover her pink cheek.  Then concern trickled into her expression, “... I didn’t see the Marshal…”  
“No.” The dark-haired woman agreed quietly.

“I’m sorry.”  
“It doesn’t matter.  Like as not he was delayed by something more important.”

“I’m very sure it torments him, being forced to make allowances for other priorities…”

Ariel shrugged, “... This is the way we’ve always done it, he and I.  Do not trouble yourself. The Tidemother will not be nearly as amicable as the others.  She is not known for her mercy.”

 

Stopping at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Altar of the Tidemother, Lunafreya turned, gleaming in the Altissian sunlight, looking every bit the ethereal powerhouse of divinity she was meant to be, and took the huntress’s rough hands in hers, “Thank you.  For everything. I know this has been difficult for you-- this trip in particular. I am ever in your debt…”

“Don’t talk like this is where we part ways.  I’ll wait back here like the other times for sanctity’s sake.  The moment you need me, I will be at your side.” Ariel grinned reassuringly, “This is your last trial, is it not?  Then we can finally reunite you with your charming prince.”

Blushing anew, the Oracle turned and climbed the stone stairs to collect the Trident and sing as Ariel had heard her do twice before now.  Her voice rang clear and almost silvery over the sea.

 

There she waited, watchful-- though her position placed her out of line of sight of the Oracle-- and like both times before, she _too_ heard the voice of the gods respond to the song.  Both their words uttered and the words unuttered.

She remembered hearing the restless dreams of the Tidemother in the wind as she played on the piers in her childhood.  She’d believed that her ability was product of her birthright as Princess of Accordo.

But then she’d heard the un-voices of the lifeless things in the lab below the wasteland of South Niflheim.

Then she’d heard the maddeningly harsh and booming voices of the statues-- idols to the Old Kings of Lucis, pieces of the Old Wall--  restless in their death dreams. They were so _many_ and so loud, it drove her nearly mad with distraction.  That, combined with the over-indulged dependence of the citizens in their fantasy of safety and plenty had driven her from the city streets and eventually the city itself.

The eldritch, unfathomably inhuman voices of the gods were preferred.

Even in all their fury and disgust with humankind, like now.

 

_//This wretched pile of bone and flesh, ignorant of that which governs All, comes to requisition the might of a goddess?//_

Leviathan was every bit the awe-and-terror inspiring creature that Ariel had always imagined in youth, and she admittedly beheld her with a measure of pride.  This was her Matron, after all.

It was then that she saw the Imperial airships and awe shifted to fury that coiled in her belly.

She felt the weight of the Tidemother’s attention-- a heavy Gaze weighing upon her with the force of all the ocean, but unlike with the Fulgarian, who had beheld her with the purpose of _Judgement_ , the great Matron regarded her with the glimmer of what seemed to be recognition.

 

 _Yes, Tidemother, I am home again.  I’ve returned to you, and if you would but look with kindness upon that young woman, I swear I will personally tear down and rip the throats from any and all who would dare_ **_defy_ ** _you here._

The huntress did not know if the goddess heard her silent prayer, but the massive Gaze returned to the Oracle regardless.

 

 _//What does a lowly, ephemeral sack know of All Creation!?//_  The great arrow-shaped head swooped down and Ariel heard a terrible crash of stone that almost sent her charging up the stairs.  But then she heard Luna’s voice.

“I know what _you_ must know: that the King of Kings is to drive the darkness from our star!”

 

Then the report of tromping boots drew Ariel’s attention back toward the temple, and she saw a squad of MT troopers charging toward the Altar, no doubt to secure the Oracle into Niflheim custody once more.

Sliding a pair of hook knives from their sheathes at her hip and thigh, the huntress went to meet them, grinning fiercely, “ _È tempo che voi bastardi lasciate la mia città!_ ”

 

\----------------------------

 

Cor was late.  He was terribly, gut-twistingly late, and he could only pray that the massive walls of water and eldritch power crackling through the air with magic strong enough to leave pieces of smashed buildings _floating in the cloud-and-sea-spray choked air_ didn’t mean he was _too late_.

It wasn’t entirely his fault--or so a small part of him tried to protest.  He’d left only a day after his phone call with Ariel, with every intention of being the first to arrive on the archipelago, but it had proven harder than anticipated to secure a craft for crossing the sea.

Mostly because he refused to ask the Crownsguard, Cid, or any of his other established connections in Lucis for assistance.  He’d been convinced, deep down, that they would tell him not to go. He’d worried they’d demand how he could account for such a journey considering his responsibilities, and that he wouldn’t have a suitable answer.

How could he explain that he needed to go because Ariel _needed_ him to be there, when everyone knew Ariel to need _nothing_ from _anyone_?

So he’d considered himself _on his own_.

It was only later he’d learned that if he’d simply been _less secretive_ with his friends and allies, he could have accompanied Noctis and the others, and would have arrived a few days ago.

Instead, he’d taken a long detour to arrive on a smuggler ship that sank in a rogue storm.  Fortunately he’d been found and rescued by this fisherman who’d agreed to take him to Altissia.

 

Said fisherman in question was exclaiming with growing panic in _Accor_ , while the boat’s emergency radio blasted non-stop in spurts of both the native tongue and the common one.  The city was being evacuated.

The city was being evacuated.

The city was being evacuated...

Cor’s mouth went dry and his hands would not stop shaking while his guts twisted so painfully he thought he would vomit.  All the while, he drifted steadily nearer the waking nightmare and the threat of re-experiencing the hell that’d tormented his sleep ever since he’d walked out of Insomnia for the last time..

Except _this time_ , he was keenly aware that he could _not_ fail.   _Everything_ that mattered was inside this city.  His king. The Oracle. Ariel.

 _Everything_ that mattered.   _Everything_ that still gave anything _meaning_.

 

The authorities were requisitioning all serviceable boats, and his pilot gave him a worried look.

“... Just get me close enough to jump off.” Cor said with a hollow voice after swallowing back the gorge that kept threatening to claw up his throat.

\----------------------------

 

Ariel had admittedly not been paying as much attention as she’d like to the events on the Altar and beyond, as a second and then a third squad had charged toward her.  But with the last lifeless husk cast aside, the huntress became aware of two things simultaneously:

The ripple of suffering in her awareness that always accompanied witnessing the Oracle drained of her vitality after hearkening unto the Astrals and forging a covenant.

And the hum of an Imperial airship close by.

She did not question.  Ariel turned on her heel and ran, sprinting up the stone stairs to behold the whole of the Altar.  Lunafreya was not alone. Weakened and gasping on her hands and knees, a tall man in a long black coat circled her like a vulture.

“Now, about that ring.”  Ariel knew him immediately by his voice and the whimsical riot of his clothing and hair.  This was the Chancellor of Niflheim, whom she’d met at her wedding decades ago, and whose briefest touch had made her flesh crawl even more than Caligo’s.  She could feel the imminent violence coming off his figure in waves, and so she did not stop sprinting.

He crouched then, in front of the young woman,  “On second thought... You let him have it.” and thrust the dagger in his hand for the her belly.

He didn’t reach his target.  Lunafreya was not as weakened as he’d anticipated-- for as Ravus had observed: it was common knowledge that the work of the Oracle drained her vitality-- and she twisted away from the blade while simultaneously slapping his wrist to the side, just as Ariel had taught her over countless repetitions, every evening, since learning the young lady knew nothing about self defense.

Then the huntress was upon him.  She leapt onto him like a lunging coeurl, plunging both blades down into the front of his ostentatious collar and allowing her weight and inertia to carry them back, stumbling across the stone.

Over the edge and the long plummet into the churning water.

 

The crash of engulfing water revitalized her, the breathless cold and sting of salt seemed to suffuse through her veins and suddenly she was thirty years younger.  With both hands, she twisted the hilts of her knives, carving through bone and softer tissue, imbedding the curved steel into his chest cavity before kicking him, unstruggling, away and down into the black.  Empty-handed, she turned for the raging surface, knowing almost instinctively to follow the swelling tide to pull her around toward the smaller staircase in the walk from the temple to the Altar that allowed access by boat.  These waters had been her childhood playground, and this was not the first storm she’d dared them.

Her hands found stone, and she started to pull herself up when a sudden, dull, cold sensation interrupted her, and her body would not move any further.

This too was familiar.  As realization crept across her awareness, pain shattered through her, but she could not even gasp, much less cry out.

 _‘Do you know, I wonder, how difficult it is to scream while your diaphragm grips half a pound of sharpened steel?’_ Her own words taunted her in the echo of a nearly delirious memory.

She’d been impaled.  Again.

Somehow, from somewhere, a longsword had been thrust through her back with enough force to embed into the stone and pin her there.

In that breathless moment, fury turned to fear.  Bone-deep and inescapable. She was convinced the Chancellor had done this, somehow-- yet _another_ Niflheim lord who’d done this-- and that he was slinking quickly back toward the surface, and here she was, trapped and defenseless.  Dying in slow inches.

_No.  No please.  Help me. Please.  No._

There was someone who could help her.  Where was he? She could see his face, eyes like a storm.  His hands were strong and steady. He could pull the heavy blade from her back.  He could help her.

She needed him to help her.

She didn’t want to die.  Not again.

Not like this.  
Not again.

 

But it only lasted a moment.  Then the fury returned, and she welcomed it.  She remembered that he was not here, and why. She remembered why _she_ was here, and why she was here alone.

Then she saw Lunafreya’s worry-stricken face, appearing at the top of the stairs, and the huntress remembered she was _not_ alone.

The Oracle moved swiftly, descending the stairs in a rush to fall to her knees before the pinned woman.  In the sky beyond her, Ariel saw Noctis flying through the air, doing battle with the Tidemother, an arsenal of weapons at his command.

Luna’s face contorted with dismay when she saw the sword, “What-- How is?  This is a royal arm-- a sword of the king!”

“Get… it out… of me…” Was all Ariel could eek out of her throat.  Her hand found Lunafreya’s thigh, and she opened the flow between them, letting her power bloom inside the other woman and restore her body’s strength.

She was going to need all of it to get Ariel out of this.

They struggled together with the blade what seemed an eternity.  The angle and length of the weapon placed the hilt out of Luna’s reach without her climbing into the dangerously rough waters.  The shape of the blade forbade any effort of Ariel’s to press back against the guard in the hopes of pulling it out of the stone in front of her, through her strength alone, as the blade widened into a diamond shape toward the middle.  Any attempt might prove a deadly mistake. Finally, the Oracle cast about for ideas, and then hurried back toward the ruined MTs and picked up a broken standard, and returned with it to use as a pry bar to try and lever the blade out of Ariel’s body.

Black agony seeped the edges of the huntress’s vision while Lunafreya tried.  Then she felt a hand grip her ankle underwater and she gave a fierce kick, shock and terror alighting through her body with a surge of adrenaline and, deadly risk or no, she heaved backward, pushing with all of her strength while Luna pushed with all of hers.  Together, miraculously, they pulled the steel from the stone. Lunafreya abandoned the standard to the waves and reached down to help drag Ariel out of the water.

Together they collapsed onto the stone just in time to see the Chancellor pull himself out with ease and climb to his feet.  As if Ariel _hadn’t_ previously carved out his ribs and tore through his lungs.

“Now… Where was I--”

Half-panicked, but full of fury, the huntress made a sharp gesture, leaning into her rage and the heady weightlessness that seemed to disconnect her mind from her body, and pressed her will into the flow of power in the air all around them.  In answer, a bolt of lightning arced down like judgement, engulfing the man in the black coat and blinding the women. When their vision returned-- blotchy and spotted as it was, the Chancellor was gone, likely thrown back into the sea.

“...What Providence…” Luna whispered shakily.

“No.  A curse,” Ariel croaked in reply, “from long ago.  Come on. We have to go. Now.”

“How did you do that?” The Oracle pressed, breathless as she struggled to pull the older woman up and support her so they could stumble back toward the crumbling temple.

“Later.”

“Let me heal you at least!”

“ _Later_ .”  They needed to get away _now_ , escape and hide somewhere in the city.  The huntress suspected with deep, haunting dread, that the Chancellor would return.

 

\----------------------------

 

The boat had _just_ gotten him within jumping distance before speeding off to the eastern side of the island where evacuations were taking place.  Cor didn’t complain, even as he only made the leap with _one_ foot, the other sinking over his knee into the frigid water.  Few men with sense would have brought him even _this close_ to the pier surrounding the Altar of the Tidemother.

Not while a _second Astral_ rose from the bay.  Titan loomed enormous, roaring his challenge to Leviathan who shrieked her own back.  Cor broke into a sprint as their shadows passed over the city, and in what he could only ascribe to insane near-panic, he remembered what Ariel had told him about the Archaean not have a dick.

He was prepared to forgive her her _probable blasphemy_ as long as she was still all right.

A vice clenched around his ribs, making his breaths short and frantic as he ran.  This was not Insomnia, but he could still _see_ Insomnia, and _hear_ it, and _smell_ it, and the black mire opened like a chasm just around the edges of his vision, waiting to swallow him again.

 _They were evacuating the city_ …

He ran on, forcing air into disobedient lungs, and he did not slow when he found himself barrelling headlong into a squad of Imperial troopers.  He hardly noticed when _Kotetsu_ found itself into his left hand, ready to be drawn with his right, or how his stride and breathing adjusted into the familiar rhythms of a million practiced _kata._  Caught apparently by surprise at his arrival, the troopers only had time to ready their weapons before he was upon them, naked blade flashing through water-choked air and Imperial construct with seeming equal ease.

Cor could not delay here.

Above, he could see Noctis slowly lowering out of the air, to the remains of the broken bridge, unmoving.  Where was the Oracle, and the huntress with her?

Semi-automatic fire forced him to duck into the shelter of an alley and wend his way through toward his king.  That was his only confirmed target location. Though large parts of his heart clamored up his throat in protest, he did not know where Ariel was.  It was as simple as that.

He preferred to keep things simple.

Inside he knew it wasn’t simple.  Inside he grieved and recoiled from the awareness that he was being forced into the dilemma which he’d so carefully avoided having to make a decision between for twenty years now: his loyalty to his king, or his loyalty to the woman he loved.  Going to Noctis’s side now would likely swamp him with the duty of protecting him from a city under open attack-- a city perhaps soon to be _underwater_.  There would be no time or opportunity then, to search for Ariel and Lady Lunafreya.  However, choosing to go and search for the women would leave the king exposed to those dangers.

The yawning black encroached, choking the breath from him, stuttering it in his chest.  The alleys and cobbled walkways sped and tumbled by between blinking glimpses of the abyss, and rain or saltspray stung his face, so Cor imagined he was still running.  Or was that the wind and his nightmare strangling the sense from him? Distantly he heard screaming-- the panic of thousands given voice-- and he wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined.  Momentarily, he thought he caught the purposeful glide of an Imperial airship bearing the colors and crest of Brigadier General Caligo Ulldor, and something icy and terrifying clenched at his heart.  He was going to the side of his king (wasn’t he?) and Ulldor was here, and Ariel was here, and was watching history repeat itself the price he’d have to pay for his years of happiness? Would he lose her _again_ to the Nif bastard?

A siren had been whining through the wind and crashing of cement and sound of gunfire, echoing off the solid surfaces.  It seemed to have funneled down into this alley and amplify off the stone.

They were evacuating the city.

 _They were evacuating the city_.

_The Citadel, he had to get to the Citadel.  Regis was--_

_\--_ Regis had commanded him to protect the citizens.

_The citizens were screaming as the concrete of their city tumbled down upon their heads._

The citizens were screaming.

The citizens.

The--

\--Regis.

_Regis.  Clarus._

Regis was dead.  They were all _already_ dead.

_Regis.  Clarus._

_Insomnia._

_Insomnia._

The next step.

The next step.

What was the next step?

He couldn’t breathe.

_He couldn’t breathe._

Choking.

Choking on the cement and rubble and bodies.

Choking on all the _death._

On each pound of flesh that weighed against his _failure_.

_Insomnia._

Next step--

 

“Marshal!” The word, shouted through the nightmare, was like a strong fist to the jaw, and his attention focused, centering his entire being on the almost incandescent figure in white, streaked with scarlet blood.  She was weighed down to her knees by a darker, completely soaked figure who bled profusely from a grievous wound to the body.

“Lady Lunafreya?” Upon speaking, Cor knew at once, even before the other figure lolled their head to one side to regard him with one tawny eye, that it was _her_.

The gods were kind, it seemed, and had delivered them to him.  But what would be the _price_?

There was always a price.

… Wasn’t there?

 

Cor did not remember moving his legs to cross to the women, but he gathered them up, feeling Ariel’s deadweight settle into his arms.  She smelled of blood and seawater. “What happened?”

She grinned up at him, teeth stained crimson, her face ashen, but her eyes almost deliriously bright.

Lady Lunafreya spoke quickly, withdrawing from bearing the huntress’s weight so she could use both hands to press them against her torso, “She was impaled with a sword.” Then the Oracle bent her head and prayed, lips mouthing a string of words with swiftness.

The Marshal felt some warmth return to his deadened body when she struggled out of his grip moments later, “Noctis.” The huntress said, “We have to hurry.  The Chancellor may turn for him.”

Unhesitating, he turned to run with them, more than grateful for his next objective _(the next step)_ to be clearly delineated for him, “Chancellor Izunia?”

“The _second_ Niflheim lord to force upon me the indignity of a slow death… had it not been for Lady Lunafreya.”

“He would have killed _me_ if not for _you_ ,” the Oracle countered.  Then Cor felt her gaze on him, “... Something isn’t right.  About him. He’d used one of the royal arms.”

“We’ll figure it out once we have the king safe.” Cor still couldn’t breathe, though whether from the crushing weight of dread and near-panic or the delirious, breathless relief, he couldn’t tell.

 

The stones of the bridge were slick and treacherous, broken and weakened haphazardly.  But there he lay, so far untouched by Niflheim or the wrath of the Astrals, and it was too generous, Cor thought.  Too generous by _far_ that both of them should be delivered to him alive.  What would be the _cost_ ?  They both hesitated, he and the Oracle, giving the huntress concerned looks before she scoffed at them and turned her back, walking back toward the pier a few steps, muttering about _keeping a lookout_ .  Cor could only imagine the state of her mind, but knew better than to try and address it now.  Her pride was too great, and he would not do either of them the disservice of wounding it with his concern or sympathy in the presence of another.  Turning almost as one, he and Lunafreya went to the side of the king. Their position so close to the raging Astrals concerned the Marshal (though, later, in hindsight, he acknowledged that the Archaean _was_ in a position of _warding_ …) so he gripped the arm of the Oracle and prevented her from kneeling to pray over Noctis, and instead stooped to arrange him to be lifted and carried.

“We should find somewhere safer,” He said, wondering if there were such a place anywhere in the city.  He hadn’t yet seen inland. How far had Niflheim pushed?

And where were the king’s retainers?

Questions that would need answers.  Later. With a low grunt, he pulled the younger man’s arm, already standing on his booted feet with one of his own, before looping his left arm between his legs and around the one to grip his arm.  Then he stood with the young king across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“Follow me,” The huntress commanded, as if she’d not been bleeding her life away minutes ago and even now showed an ashen complexion.  But her hands and bearing were steady, and her eyes bright, so the Marshal did not argue. She led them confidently through several alleyways, dodging Imperial patrols.

There was one blind corner too many, though, and she stepped into two armed figures moving fast.  Cor was reminded of the night he met her in Niflheim twenty years ago. The assailant made a lunge, and she seemed to stand completely still, merely shifting her weight.  Unlike that night, however, when the attacking blade slid harmlessly by, she did not trap them and speak reason. Fury gleamed in her ochre eyes, and her curved knife was poised to kill.

“Ariel _wait_!  Ignis!”

There was an awkward scuffle, and then a pause as both knife wielders held a blade ready to cut through vitals.  Lord Ravus stepped forward, looking somewhat amused.

“Such a charming way of greeting,” He smiled at the huntress, “I wonder if you make many friends this way?”

“My _friends_ know better than to startle me,” She grinned back, and Cor wondered when they’d had the opportunity to meet and negotiate this lack of hostility.  Ravus was High Commander and therefore… _another_ _Niflheim lord_.

“Marshal!” The Crownsguard greeted breathlessly as he was released-- though he was slow to release the huntress in return, Cor noted, “Noctis--”

“--I have him here.  Release her, Ignis. She’s with me, and I won’t have any sympathy for you if she breaks every bone in that arm and hand if you don’t.”

Cor watched the green eyes blink first at him, then at Ariel, who grinned back at him, teeth bared.

“Apologies.” He said quietly, lowering his dagger.  The huntress shrugged.

“Did you clear the way?  Are you being pursued?”

“No,” Ravus said lightly, mismatched eyes scanning his sister for injury, “nobody was in any shape to pursue us.  Not even Brigadier General Ulldor.”

“What?” Cor whispered.

“What?” Ariel demanded, eyes gleaming.

“The General had the misfortune of crossing blades with me,” Ignis admitted slowly, “and his mechanized armor did not serve him as he hoped…”

The brunette woman’s voice seemed to fail, and a harsh rasp replaced it, “You _killed_ him?”

“It was Lord Ravus here who imparted the killing blow.”

“Through the back,” The Tenebraen heir remarked, casually, “I thought you might like that--”

Quite suddenly he was seized by the front of his collar and hauled down for a quick, rough kiss.  Spluttering, he stumbled away, expression a mix of confusion, surprise, and mild affront.

Ignis’s quirked eyebrow of amusement informed that he was about to comment, but Ariel grabbed him and kissed him as well, with no less of a reaction to show for her efforts.

“Thank you,” She replied, her voice and grin fierce, “I won’t soon forget this.”

Something hot and bitter writhed momentarily inside Cor, but it was smothered by the relief that the threat was neutralized at last, and the pride that his junior Crownsguard had apparently played a significant hand in it.

“Where are Gladio and Prompto?” Was his inquiry as Ariel pushed her way past the two taller men to scout the next corner.

“We were separated,” Ignis confessed, approaching, his eyes fixed on Noctis’s face, his concern laid bare, “I had previous contact with them over radio, but my receiver was damaged.”

“Will you come with us?” Lunafreya was saying to the High Commander, taking his hand in both of hers, “Will you give up this misplaced loyalty, and this misplaced hatred, and join us?”

“Do not be deceived.  My alliance with this Lucian soldier was only ever a temporary one.  A means to an end,” The magitek prosthetic gestured toward Ignis in a dismissive way, “It served my purposes to ensure your safety.”

“I am safe,” She told him, “and have been with the aid of the Lucians and their allies.  It is only the Empire that threatens me now.”

“Do you have no need of me, then, sister?” The man demanded bitterly.

“Why do you think she asked you to come with us?” Ariel prompted from behind him. “Don’t be over-proud, princeling.  I’ve little love for the machinations of Lucis, but it is not _they_ who bring death to cities for dubious gain.”

Ravus sneered, “No.  But it _is_ they who leave them burning and bleeding to save _their own_ interests.”

“Yes,” Ariel agreed with a shrug, “it is they who pitilessly cut their losses when their arrogance proves folly.  They would, and _do_ , sacrifice all for their beloved prophecy.  If it is true, then it is only _right,_ I suppose...”

“ _If_ it is true?” Both Nox Fleurets said at once, together.  Lunafreya looked _personally grieved_ at this revelation.

“Ariel…?” She said softly, graceful eyebrows creasing together.

“If it is _false_ , then the sacrifices of my family, of my _kingdom_ have been in vain!  My ancestors, my _mother_ have struggled in _futility!_ ” Ravus raged, “And the darkness will swallow us _all_ , _you_ included!”

The huntress blinked at him, looking him in his mismatched eyes, unaffected by his temper, “So your path is clear, then.”

He glared at her a few moments more, but then the tension bled from him, and he sighed, “... So it would seem.  Still. There is much I can do with my position--”

“--A position you stand to _lose_ after calling a full retreat, sacrificing your Brigadier General, and failing to acquire either the King, the Ring, or the Oracle.” Ignis pointed out sagely.

“At this stage,” Cor intoned, remembering reports he’d heard concerning Brigadier General Tummelt, “failure will not be so easily overlooked.”

In truth, he wasn’t sure how wise it was to bring along the _High Commander_ who so clearly had an axe to grind with the royal line of Lucis Caelum even _still_.  But Lunafreya seemed to trust the angle of his intentions, and more importantly so did Ignis and Ariel.

“Please,” Lunafreya implored, “come with us.  This time, please, trust me.”

Ravus looked at her, then around him at the other faces before resting his gaze on Cor, “You.  You’re the Lucian Commander of no little infamy, are you not? You agree with this, knowing the danger it will place you in?”

“I’m living in and fighting for an occupied kingdom.  If you know a choice I could make that _doesn’t_ come with added danger, I’m _listening_ .” Cor told him blandly, “In the meantime, to escape the current danger, we’re going to need a strong sword-arm, I think.  And my hands are full.” He indicated the still-unconscious King loaded on his back. He could see that Ignis was more than willing to shoulder that weight _for him_ , but he could also see that Ignis was all but on his last legs.

He also wasn’t one step away from a nightmare in his head.  Better to keep _his_ hands free for fighting than Cor’s at the moment.

“I see.” That was the last Ravus said on the matter.

Ariel turned to lead them once again through the twisting narrow alleys, avoiding the exposure of the canals and ducking retreating MT regiments and magitek armors.

Reuniting with Gladio and Prompto was a much simpler affair, save that Prompto had twisted his knee after a walkway had collapsed beneath them, dropping him several feet onto the unforgiving cement below.  Lunafreya and Ariel moved forward together, and Prompto managed to look only _slightly_ bright red in the face.  Cor noted that Gladio still couldn’t look him in the eye.

That was fine.

It was going to be fine.

By the time Ariel had found a nearly intact but otherwise abandoned house, he’d almost convinced himself.

 

\----------------------------

 

Cor thought he felt a fever creeping up on him-- an overheated, scratchy feeling edging through his skull while chills crept over his skin.  His guts, too, continued to twist and protest. Nerves, he knew. The price of confronting and enduring the nightmare again.

He leaned back in the chair, thankful for the security of a wall behind him and the chance to rest.  Thankful too, for the quiet. Noctis and Lunafreya rested in the bedroom across the hall from where he sat.  After a preliminary and disappointing search of the kitchen, Ignis had joined his companions in the bedroom beside it for a brief reprieve.  Ravus was downstairs, hopefully conserving his energy and replanning his efforts.

Ariel paced restlessly like a caged thing, just _barely_ concealing her snarling.  Cor knew. He’d known her for longer than twenty years.  He knew she was overextending herself, running on little more than _fury_ to keep her on her feet.  He had not forgotten that less than half an hour ago, she’d been nearly bleeding the last of herself out in his arms.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“You should rest.”

“ _No_.”

It was a fierce, petulant refusal, born out of her desire to be spiteful and contrary for her _pride’s_ sake.  Knowing better than to insist with words, Cor instead climbed achingly to his feet and moved to intercept her pacing, “You were _impaled_ , today, and almost died in my arms.  Is it so much to ask that you sit with me?”

She retreated from him, nearly spitting with frustration as he closed in, “I don’t want to _sit_.”

“... I’m sorry I was late,” He said quietly, “You needed me, and I wasn’t here.”

“I did need you,” Was her bitter reply, “or I thought I did.  But these thirty years have taught me to rely on _myself_ , Cor, and our twenty together have not changed that.  My standing here is thanks to Luna, however. Neither of _us_ were much good.”

“You have a right to be angry.”

“Gods!” She turned her back, clenching both fists in front of her like she intended to put them through the far wall, “I’m _not_ angry with _you_ , you fool!”

“... Then who are you angry with?”

She froze, and refused to face him, “... We should not speak of this.”

“I insist.” He said sternly, closing the distance between them, “You’ve kept it hidden for weeks now-- since before you left.  Tell me.”

“It’s too soon.  You are still grieving.”

Pressing his face into the crown of her head, he sighed, “So this is about Insomnia.”

“No.  This is about _Regis_ !  I cannot-- _will not_ forgive him what he’s done.  What he did to _us_ .  What he’s done to _you_ .  Even if it means you cannot forgive _me_.”

“What do you m--”

She struggled in his arms, but was not strong enough to break free, only managing to turn around to glare her rage with blazing eyes, “--He _never_ accepted me, _never approved_ of us.  This matters not at all to me save I know your desire to please him.  For twenty years I was content to play the part of your _mistress_ while you pledged yourself to his will.  But in his _cowardice_ , he sacrificed the whole of the continent to spare his _fucking rat trap city_ .  This was slight enough, but did he consider-- _did you_ ?-- that with the map redrawn as the Empire suggested, that _we_ would _never_ see each other again?!”

“That’s not true.  The war would be over--”

“-- Any ‘ _peace_ ’ made by that treaty would _not_ have been served by either you _or_ I, and you _know it_ !  I will not suffer Imperial rule, nor would my hunters.  We would continue to fight, as ever. And _you_ , do not pretend the Empire would let _you_ wander freely outside the city!”

Cor brought his hands up, cupping her face,“ _You_ should not pretend that I would let any of that stop me.”

“ _Regis_ would have stopped you.” She whispered harshly, angry tears gleaming unshed in her golden eyes.

Cor understood then, that this anger was one she’d been quietly carrying in silence-- likely for _his sake_ \-- for not _weeks_ , but the whole of their twenty years together.  She did not resent his duty to the Lucian throne, or even his personal allegiance and friendship with Regis with whom she’d never gotten along.  No, instead she resented what she firmly believed was Regis’s willingness to lord that loyalty and allegiance over her head-- as if he had been spitefully rubbing in her face that Cor would always choose it first.

“He might have _tried_ ,” Was his quiet confession as he reflected on the many, _many_ heated discussions behind closed doors with the king concerning the ex-princess of Accordo.  Regis had never understood Ariel, but Cor never once believed he meant her ill or actively disapproved of their relationship.

“That doesn’t change his selfish, _stupid_ actions that have bloodied his hands with _hundreds_ of lives while allowing _you_ to falsely think they count against _your_ conscience!” She snapped furiously, withdrawing her face from his grasp.

“What are you talking about?”

“ _Why_ accept the trap?--”

“--There wasn’t a better option.  You know how the war--”

“-- _Why_ did he uproot the whole of your Crownsguard, trained and equipped from its very _inception_ , to guard the Citadel to prepare in _mere weeks_ to transition to the task of _protecting the citizenry_ when he had an _entire police force_ trained and equipped for _that_ task already?!  And if he feared some actions against the city, why not hold the signing _outside_ it?”

Cor didn’t know the true answers to these questions.  He’d been overwhelmed with the new duties and mysteriously unable to hold audience with Regis in that time.  Clarus had been evasive in his answers, speaking in rhetoric, but with conviction. Cor rather thought Clarus might have known the answers, and perhaps he alone save the king.

He wondered, in a furious corner of her heart, if the reason was to _spare his life_ .  To spare _him_ , Cor Leonis, from perhaps certain death, had he been anywhere near that slaughterhouse that was the signing chambers.  It was a painful, treacherous thought, and he turned away from it because it would serve no purpose to nurture except to distract him from what needed to be done _now_.

So instead, he gave the answer Clarus had given _him_ , “Regis wanted the very best he could offer to protect his people without uprooting their lives.  You and I… we have the benefit of hindsight, Ariel. He made the choices he thought were… best.”

“He left everything to you.  He _knows_ you, Cor.  He knew he could rely on you to carry everything.  Carry his prince and this damn prophecy. Carry his rat trap people and all their pitiful flailing and self-satisfied _dependence_ .  Carry the last vestiges of _dignity_ of his legacy.  Carry the horror and suffering of a fallen city.  He _knows_ you, Cor.  He _knew_ what this would do to you, what this _has_ done to you, and he _did it anyway_ .  To _you_ .  To his _boy_ .  And I will never forgive him.  I will never forgive him for leaving you to convince yourself that this was _your fault_.”

 

Cor pulled her close, and leaned down to press his forehead against hers, “Thank you.  I’m alright.”

“Of _course_ you are.  He left you little choice!”

“No.  But I have you.  I still have you.  Thank you.”

He felt her hands slide slowly up his chest, “It’d be a waste to give you up after this long…”

“I would not have forgiven _myself_ if I had lost you here.  I wanted to be here like you asked, but I… I made a stupid decision.  It cost me so much time.”

The huntress gave a little helpless laugh, “This is the way we’ve always done it, you and I.  We tackle the hard things alone.”

“We should stop.”

“You say that now…”

The smirk felt sharp and oily as it slide across his lips, but Cor was glad it was there at all, “Make me regret it.  I dare you. I’m _better_ when you’re with me.”

\----------------------------

 

The young king of Lucis cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, so Ariel stood up from her comfortable seat on Cor’s lap while he’d dozed, and the man quickly roused himself to wakefulness and his feet as well.

“Hey.” The dark-haired young man said.

“Hi again,” The blond-- Prompto-- added with enough energy to convince himself his self-consciousness was not apparent.

“Well,” The huntress smiled to herself, “if it isn’t the two young men who might have been my sons if the Marshal had had his way…”

Cor shot her a look before getting pinned down by the ones from the others. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Of what?” Noctis demanded, folding his arms.

Shrugging, Ariel flashed a grin before stretching her arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pull in her back and shoulders, “He might have asked your father to marry me thirty years ago.  Fortunately for everyone’s sake, I said ‘no’.”

“And, uh… who’re you, again?” Prompto asked.

“Excellent question,” The king’s blue eyes turned toward her, and there was so much of his _father_ in them that it strangled her.  All she wanted to do was rail with fury and shout him down.  His Shield and the glasses-wearing advisor were entering the hall as well.  Lunafreya lingered near the door.

“I believe she’s the former Princess of Accordo, long thought dead.” The latter observed.

For all that these people were her allies, she couldn’t help but feel the intense pressure of their inspection.

“She’s the Queen of Leide.”

All eyes turned to Cor.  Gladiolus, Clarus’s son, grunted his disbelief, “That’s not possible.  Come on, Marshal.”

“Her name is Ariel,” Cor stated firmly, “She’s the Queen of Leide.  Ask anybody there.”

When they looked at her again, Ariel smiled, letting them feel the weight of her gaze in return and the force of her personality.  She’d heard Cid call her the ‘huntress queen’ often enough for the moniker to not be wholly unfamiliar.

In the moment, faced with Regis’s son and his royal retinue, she rather _liked_ the title.

The Shield found it difficult to swallow, especially coming from _Cor_ , and was building himself up for a retort when Noctis shrugged and said, “So at least _symbolically_ , she’s the Queen of Leide.  That’s really the only kind that matters.”

Then he looked at her, and a small smile teased its way to his face, and quite suddenly, Ariel thought she could understand why Lunafreya could love him, “In that case, _thank you_ , your majesty.  Thank you for protecting Lunafreya all this time, and helping her.”

She smiled, “Call me Ariel, your majesty.  It was a pleasure.”

“Noctis, then.”

“So…” Prompto interjected awkwardly, “... How were you almost _my_ mom…?”

“The Marshal may have suggested once that I adopt you.”  
Cor frowned, “No I didn’t.”

“You implied it.”

“-- So you two…” Waggling a finger between them, Gladio was arching an eyebrow.

“What about it?” Cor folded his arms.

“Nothing,” The big man chuckled, “Just, she’s too pretty for you.”

 

Their conversations had brought Ravus up the stairs, and there were several moments of explanations on all sides about what had occurred after the Hydraen was summoned.  Lunafreya explained about the Chancellor of Niflheim, and his inexplicable ability to use the Royal Arms. Ariel explained his uncanny ability to _shrug off death_.

And then Lunafreya explained the prophecy, in whole, and what all would be required.

The Crystal.

The Ring.

The Period of Reflection and Purification.

The Throne.

And the Sacrifice of the King of Kings.

These, and these alone had the power to overturn the darkness and defeat the Usurper.

It was a long day of emotionally charged conversations between perimeter checks.  Ariel noted how often Noctis reached for and held Lunafreya’s hand.

“Did you know?” She whispered to the Marshal, “What was required?”

“I suspected.  You?”

“These legends often laud the merits of _martyrdom_ .  Yes.  I suspected.” She shrugged, leaning back against his chest.  Prompto and Ignis were off searching for salvageable food supplies.  Gladio and Ravus were taking a perimeter watch, bickering about _something_ the whole way. “This is why it would be so important he _choose it_.”

 

It was over a meager dinner of assorted canned foods that Noctis made his announcement, “Look, we all know this is… what I have to do.  We have to get the Crystal and… do the thing. But… I… I want to get married. First.”

Lunafreya flushed.  Ravus dropped his spoon and palmed his forehead.  Gladio and Prompto laughed. Ignis asked Lunafreya if she was partial to Noctis’s scheme.  Cor remained quiet-- he hadn’t said much of anything since their conversation about Regis.

“Yes.” Lunafreya answered the advisor, Noctis, and the table, “I think that’s a fine idea.  But we shouldn’t stay here.”

“Let’s go to Lestallum.” The energetic blond suggested, “We could have a _bomb_ wedding at the Leville!”

“Better to have a _quiet_ one,” Ignis cautioned.

Gladio grunted his agreement, “Yeah, we don’t need the Empire stomping in to crash the party.”

 

Their arrangements were made through the Market of Tides, using the influence of Ariel’s former throne, Noctis’s future one, and Lunafreya’s position as Oracle.  Three days later, they were back to sea, heading for Lucis.


	5. The World of Darkness

“I told you to wait for me,” Ariel called through the dark of the street, watching the silver-haired soldier slowly trudge toward her.  “You’ve grown impatient in your old age, Marshal.”

“The King was making his move,” He grunted back, “And you were taking your time.”

“Was I?” Stopping, she placed her hands on her hips, feigning ire.

He flashed a brief grin, trying to hide the grimace with each breath, “Maybe.  But now at least I know what it takes to bring you back to my  _ rat-trap city _ .”

“The salvation of the world?” Ariel mused, resuming her approach.  Stepping before him, she reached both hands up to peel his hand, and then the burnt fabric of his Kingsglaive uniform away from the wound on his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect anything  _ less _ .”

“It’s quieter now, at least.” She said, “Though, I think we’ve both had our fill of ruined cities to last a lifetime.”

“Mm.  Did everyone make it back to Lestallum safe?”

“I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t yet.”

 

Little more than ten years ago, Noctis and Lunafreya had quietly married at The Leville hotel in Lestallum.  Two weeks after the ceremony, the King and his retinue had departed for Gralea, entrusting the safety of the refugees from Insomnia and the new Queen of Lucis to Cor, Ravus, Ariel, Iris, and Monica.  Monica and Cor continued their duties with the refugee camp while Ravus and Ariel kept watch over the Queen and Lestallum. Lunafreya and Iris paved the way for the steady transplantation of the refugees into the city.  It was not swiftly or easily arranged, and by the time everything was in order to start the movement, the days were already shortening at an alarming rate. Cor changed his focus from management to gathering and training the Kingsglaive, old and new, to fight the growing threat of daemons in a world with little light.  The retinue returned from Gralea, making their way back to Lestallum and reporting that the Crystal had accepted Noctis, just as Lunafreya had forewarned.

On the night the sun did not rise again, they learned she was pregnant with the heir of Lucis-- should there  _ be _ a Lucis ever again.

When the refugees started arriving in droves from all directions, telling horror stories of towns losing power and daemons bursting into existence in their kitchens and bedrooms, Ariel left Lestallum and disappeared into the night.  Parties of Kingsglaive, hunters, and the retinue would occasionally be visited by her in their camps or during their hunts. They told of how she was becoming an even more feral, lethal creature out in the eldritch dark. Even so, every time Lunafreya or the Marshal needed her, she would slink back into the city like a swift shadow.  It wasn’t long before the Kingsglaive training became more self-sustaining, so Cor too wandered out into the night. He returned every few months, and was much more prevalent in scattered camps, but he never stayed long. The bustle and crowd of a city made him more uneasy, after Insomnia and Altissia, than the vicious dangers waiting in the wilds.

It was not a terrible way to spend ten years teetering on the edge of armageddon.  The two of them were strong together. Months ago, however, the old scars began to itch more than Cor could stand, and he made clear his intention to return to Insomnia and secure a base of operations in anticipation for the King’s return.  The huntress had gone with him, but he knew better than to ask her to  _ stay _ .

The Oracle knew the moment the King returned from his Reflection in the Crystal.  She’d sent word, and the retinue gathered to escort her to meet the King at Hammerhead, as had been planned since before Noctis left.  The nine year old prince went with them, as had Ravus.

The huntress met them on the road, and it was she who had escorted the Queen of Lucis and her son back to Lestallum to await the dawn.  The others pressed on for Insomnia.

 

Observing the burn in the Marshal’s flesh, which reached nearly to the bone, Ariel focused on the flow-- their breathing, the pulse in their veins, and if she  _ reached _ , she could feel the division and multiplication of cellular tissue, and the ever-present hum of energy all around-- and gave a slow, steady  _ push _ .  At her direction, the flesh healed over with new skin, and the silver-haired man’s vitality returned.

 

The first time she’d demonstrated her  _ curse _ to him, he’d given a brief, muffled shout of alarm.  “I’ve known you for  _ thirty years _ ,” He’d grumbled, “Since  _ when _ did you practice  _ magic _ ?!”

But it wasn’t magic.  Not like the Kings of Lucis, or the Oracles.  What she could do was not ordained or granted by the Astrals.  It was a pollution of her bloodline. As far as her family had been able to discern, it was an ancient curse from the fall of Solheim.  A taint so that they would always know the rage of the gods and the deserved suffering of man. A dark portents of how the overreaching of mortals would bring only ruin.  That she could sometimes make use of it did not make it a  _ gift,  _ as more often in her young life, it had brought only great misery.  All her life, it had shamed her family, so they kept it secret, and were  _ gladdened _ that they could gain even  _ some _ notice from the Empire.  Therefore, they eagerly accepted Ulldor’s offer, regardless of his lack of rank and his cruel reputation.  Regis’s offer had come too late by many years-- the King and Queen of Accordo had already been seduced by the scientific advancements of Niflheim.

 

“I’m surprised at you,” Ariel told the Marshal, “that you would let an injury like this turn you away from the side of your King.”

“You told me to wait for you.” He teased her, successfully keeping the smirk from his lips but  _ not _ the creases under his light eyes.  She scoffed and toyed with the beard at his chin, though it covered much more of his face now. “No.  In truth, for all the good I might have done… that wasn’t where I was needed. He asked me to look to the future in his stead, and keep the past.  My time isn’t… now. What he faces in the Citadel… It’s not my fight.”

The huntress felt a blooming of affection, “Quite the long road from the young man who stormed into the  _ Proving Grounds _ …”

“Well,” Cor shrugged, “he’s had forty years to get over himself.”

She laughed, and kissed him and said, “So, you’ll  _ not _ be wanting to head back toward the Citadel, then?”

“No.” With a broad sweep of his arm, he indicated the breathless still city, “There’s plenty to do here.  Nobody knows what will happen if the King succeeds. Or if…”

“He will.  You didn’t see the way he looked at his beloved and their son.  He will.”

Nodding, Cor looked thoughtfully at the swollen, black sky, “... Even after that, there’ll be a queen of a broken kingdom to look after, and a prince to train…”

“And pray tell, old man,” demanded Ariel with a sigh, “when will you finally retire your duties to the Lucian throne and be content to simply serve  _ me _ ?”

 

He looked at her for several moments, and she him.  Him, the man who had managed to ensnare her despite he fierce independence  _ so utterly _ .  In the beginning, she had found him handsome enough:  a well-formed youth not yet grown into his prime with the storm in his eyes and a steady bearing-- so  _ different  _ from the artistic flair in all her usual playmates and courtiers.  Then, she’d only wanted to taste the passion she sensed burning under that stern external armor, while at the same time making a stand for her own liberty and independence.  For just an hour or so, she’d wanted to be something other than the bartering piece of her parents. In the harsh desert, he’d been a man in his prime-- heartbreakingly handsome, as she suspected he might become, and a legend.  Yet inexplicably, his passions still burned for her. She’d been flattered and intrigued, and perhaps more than a little infatuated. It wasn’t until she was in the continent of Lucis that she realized just how entangled in him and his passion she’d become.  She couldn’t say, at precisely which moment that he’d seized her heart and claimed it as his very own. Perhaps it was at that very first moment, the impertinent kiss on the pier when she’d brought them the flowers of welcome. Age and hardship had not diminished her feelings any more than it had diminished his tremendous good looks.  Though time had been considerably kinder to  _ her _ \-- only a single streak of silver graced her hair, and the first traces of crows feet at her eyes. (Gladio liked to comment that she was  _ still _ way too pretty for the Marshal) -- he was still one of the most powerful warriors in the world.  He was also still heart-achingly handsome enough to draw attention from much younger hopefuls. Ariel had snarled at more than  _ one  _ bold young Kingsglaive in the camps, much to the Marshal’s confusion.

Cor broke the silence, and tipped up her face with a hand, “... The very hour you command it, my huntress queen.”

  
Beaming, she coyly withdrew from his grasp, knowing that she likely  _ never would. _  To the east, the sky was starting to lighten.  Something groaned and hissed, rising from the shattered streets.  Grinning fiercely, Ariel drew her wickedly curved knives and looked at her beloved, “One more hunt before the dawn?”

**Author's Note:**

> Got questions? Want to talk about it? [Here's your mic! ](https://mtraki.tumblr.com/ask)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bulletproof](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306510) by [ProwlingThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder)
  * [We've Not Yet Lost All Our Graces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465327) by [Omnibard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard)




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